Harry Potter and the Alternative Tournament
by twistyguru
Summary: The Goblet of Fire creates a binding magical contract, not only on the student but the school...so what school is Harry representing?  Harry gets a new Headmistress who's practically perfect, and the Tournament gets the Guru treatment! Xover, imp. Slash!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: ** It's my take on the Goblet of Fire, Mashup Version: Harry's got a new Headmistress and new Professors from another great magical tradition! Harry Potter...meet Mary Poppins!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter, Mary Poppins, or any of the other named characters you'll find herein. I make no profit from this story; it's been written solely as a tribute to the great people who've created such wonderful, charming, evil, memorable characters over the years. Thank you, JRK and Walt Disney (and your legions of helpers) for bring such joy to us all.

**Dedication:** to Brennah, on the occasion of her graduation from OTIS College of Art and Design. Best of luck, luv!

**CHAPTER 1**

_Once upon a time, a little boy was born, with messy black hair and huge green eyes, to fulfill a great destiny..._

The Goblet of Fire let out a fresh gout of flame, and began quivering on its base. Every eye in the Hall snapped to the ancient magical artifact as it danced in place, a high-pitched keening sound assaulting everyone's ears. The Goblet wheezed...groaned...then let out what could only be described as a tortured wailing noise as shower after shower of multicolored sparks spewed forth. Then, with a final convulsive belch of sound—rather like a 20 stone treacle tart might make, if it were thrown from the top of Gryffindor tower onto the courtyard below—the Goblet let out one last shudder and expelled another slip of paper before giving a final wheeze and going dark.

The entire Hall was silent as the slip of paper floated down into Albus Dumbledore's hand. His voice was steady as he read what was written there.

"Harry Potter...of the Poppins Institute", he said, his eyes going wide.

The loud _thunk_ of Harry Potter's head hitting the Gryffindor table was the signal for complete pandemonium to break out throughout the Hall.

* * *

><p>Harry had reluctantly gone with the other Champions into the meeting room off the Great Hall. Unfortunately, the screeching he had heard from Hermione and Ron's outraged overreaction had only been a small sample of what he was now getting.<p>

"This is preposterous! I demand that the Goblet be re-lit, so that my school may have a second champion selected!" Durmstrang Headmaster Igor Karkaroff was stalking the floor, waving his arms for emphasis.

"I agree with Karkaroff! Beauxbatons, too, must have a second champion, just as Hogwarts!" The statuesque Headmistress Maxime put in coolly.

"The Goblet cannot be re-lit until the next Triwizard Tournament!" Bartholomew Crouch was just as angry as anyone else in the room. "What I want to know is how Harry Potter was able to put his name in the Goblet in the first place. Albus, you assured me that your age line was fool-proof!"

"It certainly seemed effective against the Weasley twins," from a corner, Snape sneered. Harry wondered just why it was that the Slytherin Head of House had invited himself, while his own Head of House had apparently decided to let him fend for himself.

"It would take a powerful Confundus charm to confound a magical artifact like the Goblet," Mad-Eye Moody put in, giving Snape the Evil Eye with his one real eye. Like the Potions Master, he had invited himself to this little tête-à-tête, and no one had said the first thing about it. Harry found himself not minding, however; at least Moody was the single voice of reason in the room. "I find it hard to believe that a student, even Harry Potter, could manage a spell of that strength."

"Especially Potter," Snape sneered once more. He looked like he would say more—Harry could feel another of his 'shortcomings of Harry Potter' lectures coming on, but he was interrupted by the Headmaster.

"Harry, did you put your name in the Goblet?" Dumbledore asked, staring directly into Harry's eyes.

Harry met the old wizard's gaze squarely. "No, sir, I did not."

"Perhaps a few drops of Veritiserum might be useful, Headmaster," Snape suggested, stepping forward. He was moving his hand into his robe when he stopped abruptly, Moody's wand scant inches from his chest.

"Carrying a tightly-regulated substance around with you, Snape? No, that's not suspicious behavior, not at all," the old Auror grated. "Not to mention, giving it to minors like young Potter here without Ministry sanction, or at the very least his guardian present, could get you into all manner of difficulties."

Snape's lip curled a bit more. "The Headmaster stands _in loco parentis_ while Potter is enrolled here...a condition which I hope may shortly rectified when he is expelled from this school for such a blatant disregard for the rules of the Tournament!"

While Moody and Snape argued, inspiration struck Harry. Raising his wand, he said in a loud, clear voice. "I, Harry James Potter, swear on my life and my magic that I did not put my name into the Goblet of Fire." A pulse of light from the tip of his wand sealed the magical oath.

"It doesn't matter," Ludo Bagman said, shaking his head as all those in the room considered the implications of Harry's oath. "The Goblet creates a binding magical contract when the names are entered. Having the name come out of the Goblet seals the contract, just like a magical oath. Whether or not Mr. Potter entered his name, the fact that his name came out of the Goblet means that he is obligated to compete."

"Even though it means that Hogwarts will be represented by two champions?" Karkaroff demanded.

"Apparently the Goblet thinks that Harry will be representing another school," Moody snickered.

"Despite how wonderful that sounds, I still cannot see Potter convincing the Goblet to allow him to compete. As my distinguished college has pointed out," Snape's sneer turned to Alastor Moody briefly, before returning full force to Harry, "Mr. Potter is only a fourth-year student, and a mediocre one at that."

Harry gritted his teeth. "It. Wasn't. Me." he got out, then turned his head before he said what he was really thinking.

"Yes, yes, and we all witnessed your oath to that effect, Mr. Potter," Crouch snapped. "Nonetheless, the rules of the Tournament are clear: you must compete."

"Even though you all admit that it's been rigged?" Harry asked sourly.

"Even so," Crouch said, his voice a touch sad. "I'm sorry, Mr. Potter," he went on, and by his tone of voice he might almost have meant it. "We'll begin a full investigation, of course, but I still see no way around your having to participate as a Champion, to the best of your ability."

"Meaning, someone wants the boy dead," Moody gruffed. "Well, think about it! The Tournament's designed for upper-level students, and rough enough on them. The boy should've had at least two more years of education before he'd be considered ready. And, let's not forget just who and what he is," Moody gave Harry one of his less-scary smiles. "There's plenty out there who'd just as soon see the Boy Who Lived dead. Am I right, Snape?"

Severus Snape barely spared his colleague a glance before turning the full force of his gaze onto Harry. "I dare say you are correct," he said, staring into Harry's eyes.

Harry met and held his Professor's gaze, determined not to be the one to break eye contact. He ignored the itching sensation just behind his eyes that often came when he made eye contact with the greasy git, but instead concentrated on an image of Snape being rendered down in an extra-large cauldron in the middle of the Quidditch pitch.

Surprisingly, Snape blinked, then looked away, a faint blush rising on his sallow cheeks. Alastor Moody, on the other hand, had watched the exchange with both of his eyes, and moved into the silence quickly.

"Hmm...let's see, Snape. It's common knowledge around this old pile that you and Potter don't exactly get along like berries and cream. Might you be one of those who'd like to see James's son depart this veil of tears? You certainly had access, and a possible motive; since entering Potter basically amounts to a death sentence. We might be needing some Veritiserum after all..." he grinned, obviously enjoying Snape's discomfiture.

Snape was doing his best to maintain his composure. Regally, he raised his wand and intoned, "I, Severus Snape, did not place Harry Potter's name in the Goblet of Fire. I so swear on my life and my magic." His wand pulsed, sealing the oath. "There, I trust that satisfies you, Alastor," he hissed.

"For now," Moody shot back. "Still, it'll have to do, won't it? Albus, we'll be having everyone with access to the Goblet swear oaths now, won't we?"

"I'm not certain that such a course would be effective," Dumbledore shook his head. "If we could be more certain as to who might have done such a thing, then certainly, give them the opportunity to either swear such an oath or take Veritiserum."

"There would be a number of objections raised if you began insisting on mass oaths, Dumbledore," Crouch sighed. "We ran into the same thing at the last round of Death Eater trials. Without any evidence of wrongdoing, the law is clear: oaths may not be compelled, nor Veritiserum administered without consent, except when a reasonable suspicion or probable cause can be shown. Mr. Potter and Mr. Snape have both voluntarily given their oaths, which I appreciate," he said, nodding first to Harry and then to Severus. "Still, we cannot just line people up and make them take oaths on their magic; the barristers would be all over us just as soon as they could find a floo."

"There is that," Dumbledore sighed.

"So...what will be done?" Karkaroff demanded.

"As I said, a full investigation will be started immediately, beginning with the Goblet itself," Crouch began, only to be cut off.

"But what about young Harry, here?" Olympe Maxime looked at the small little boy with concern. "_La petite_ cannot possibly hope to manage the tasks which lie before the Champions. Surely something can be done!"

"I'm afraid not," Bagman said sadly. "Harry Potter either competes, or he looses his magic. He'll just have to do his best, and we can all hope for the best. He is, after all, the Boy Who Lived." His weak smile didn't reassure Harry in the slightest.

"More like the Boy Who Got Screwed Once Again," Harry muttered, wondering just how difficult it would be to officially change his name to that. Or, failing that, make sure that it was put on his tombstone. Given the speed that the Ministry processed paperwork, he'd probably do better just contacting a stonemason straight off. Thinking dark thoughts, Harry made a note to himself to look into the price per letter carved on a nice monument...something appropriate, like a fist making the one-finger salute coming out of a cauldron, maybe?

The image made him snicker, which drew odd looks from the other Champions; the adults in the room were too busy arguing among themselves to notice him.

"Harry, what's so funny?" Cedric Diggory edged closer to him. "I mean, we all saw your oath, surely they can't be serious about you competing, can they?"

"Hullo, Ced," Harry smiled up at the much taller boy. "You heard them, it's a binding contract, just like an oath."

"That really sucks," the Hufflepuff said, honest commiseration shining in his eyes. "Still, you seem to be in good spirits about it."

Harry couldn't help but grin, even if it was a bit morbid. "Oh, just now? No, I was just planning my tombstone." At Cedric's confused look, Harry described the monument he had in mind.

"Oh, sweet Merlin," Cedric snickered, "that's horrible!" Then, catching himself, "no, I mean...well, it's funny, yeah, but...Harry, really? I mean, you are _him_, after all, the Boy Who Lived! You'll do fine, probably mop the flagstones down with all of us!"

Harry sighed. The Hufflepuff was trying so hard, and it wasn't helping. "Yeah, Ced, I'm _him_; always _him_, the Boy Who Lived. I'm never just Harry."

The implications of that statement hit Cedric like a plank between the eyes. Blinking, he started realizing just what Harry's life might be like, always to be judged by what (according to what Cedric knew) was some kind of freak occurrence when Harry was just an infant. Then, thinking fast, the Hufflepuff reached a decision that he would never regret.

"Hullo, I'm Cedric," he said sticking out his hand.

Harry's eyes went wide with amazement, and he took the offered hand. "Hullo yourself, I'm Harry."

The two just stood there, grinning at each other like loons, while around them the arguments raged on. At one point, Karkaroff demanded to see the paper with Harry's name. Holding the wretched thing itself gave him no satisfaction, and in disgust he tore it into shreds and threw them into the fire before launching himself into another rant.

No one noticed as the shreds of paper, rather than burning up, merely floated up...up...and out the top of the chimney, finding a breeze that would carry them all the way to London town...

* * *

><p>Harry very nearly skipped breakfast the next morning, but Neville Longbottom did everything but drag him out of bed.<p>

"Harry, you can't let them get to you. I believe that you didn't put your name in the Goblet, and everyone who knows you knows that you didn't. Ron and Hermione are just being gits about the whole issue, but they'll come around. Now, get up before I take steps, Potter!"

Neville's tone—stern and unyielding, so unlike his normal self—was almost enough just by itself to get Harry up and moving. However, Longbottom was also holding his wand, and Harry had seen Neville cast _Aguamenti_ enough in the greenhouses to know that he was a past master of the spell.

So, Harry had come down to breakfast escorted by Neville, as well as Seamus and Dean. He wasn't quite sure just what had transpired between the three—the evening before, Neville, who had stayed behind to have a few words with the Gryffindor common room, had sent him up to their dorm.

Just outside the Great Hall, Neville stopped Harry with a gentle hand on his arm.

"Just a minute, Potter," he said. "You can't go in there like that."

Harry paused, confused, as Neville went on. "Buck up, Harry. You look like you're being led to an execution, not breakfast."

"It might as well be," Harry groused. "Professor Moody said that somebody probably confounded the Goblet to spit out my name as part of a plot to kill me."

"Well, then, all the more reason to buck up," Neville grinned. "If they think that you don't realize that, they may slip up and reveal themselves. Keep on looking like you are, and they'll know you've figured them out for sure. They might not be willing to wait for you to die in the tasks, then. Think about it."

Harry scratched his head, thinking hard. "So, I should look like I don't have a care in the world, so that they'll think their plan is working?"

"Exactly! Now, straighten up, and act like a Gryffindor!" Neville grinned.

"You realize, that makes no sense at all," Harry grinned despite himself.

"Shut it, Harry. My Gran's being teaching me to 'fake it 'til I make it'. I figure the same thing applies here." Neville's grin was a bit mad to Harry's eye, but it made him feel better nonetheless.

"All right, here we go," he said, pulling himself up. "Coming, Longbottom?" he asked.

"Absolutely, Potter. Never let it be said that a Longbottom let a Potter go where he was afraid."

"Even if it was only to breakfast?" Harry asked.

"Especially if it's only to breakfast," Neville laughed, nudging Harry with his shoulder as the two of them went into the Great Hall.

Aside from the expected glares, especially from the Hufflepuffs, and strange stares from the rest of the Hall, breakfast was about what Harry expected. Harry waved to Cedric, who beamed and waved back, then turned to scold his housemates for not being nicer to Harry. Ron and Hermione were still being their typical unreasonable selves, and Harry suspected that someone, probably Neville, had had words with them the previous night. Both of them were giving he and Neville the cold shoulder, which quite frankly was easier on Harry's nerves than having to actually talk to them. At any rate, Harry was able to actually get down a fairly large (for him) breakfast, and he had every intention of leaving the Hall before the morning owl post arrived. Rather typically for one of Harry's plans, this one was doomed to failure, but in a way that no one could have anticipated.

Breakfast was almost over when the doors to the Great Hall opened suddenly. Standing there was a woman of indeterminate age, dressed severely in late-Victorian clothes from the lace at her neck to her button-up shoes. Of course, this put her at least two centuries ahead of the most current witch's fashions, but still she seemed to have stepped out of time as she stood, unmoving, in the doorway.

A hush fell over the hall as she began walking rapidly, confidently towards the high table. Her shoes clicked on the flagstones with each step, and her face held a neutral if not terribly pleased look as she briskly approached the faculty.

The reactions of said faculty to the strange woman's appearance was somewhat mixed. Headmasters Maxime and Karkaroff looked stunned, as did Professors McGonagall, Sprout and Flitwick. After a moment's shock, Snape affected his customary sneer, while Professor Moody stared at her with both of his eyes, then leaned back in his seat, stunned. The rest of the faculty seemed to be about evenly divided between disbelief and sheer horror. Only Headmaster Dumbledore sat calmly as the woman walked towards him.

"Albus Dumbledore, dare I ask what is the meaning of this?" the woman's voice rang out, one gloved hand holding aloft a slip of parchment while the other clutched a large black umbrella firmly. Harry felt the restrained anger in it, but the voice itself was calm and quite pleasant to hear.

"And good morning to you, Madam Poppins," the Headmaster began; rising to greet his unexpected guest, only to be interrupted by her snort at hearing the title he gave her.

"I'm no Madam, Albus, as you well know; my given name has always been and always will be sufficient," she snapped. "Now, enough of this dilly-dallying! Explain to me just why I am required to take on a student at this time, and also please introduce me to this Harry Potter," she went on, holding out the slip that the Goblet had produced the previous evening.

"That's the piece of paper from the Goblet with my name on it, that Karkaroff threw into the fire last night," Harry hissed to Neville, surprised. "How did she get it?"

"Just a guess, mind you, but I'd have to say 'magic'," Neville grinned, and then rubbed his arm where Harry shoved him. "Oi! What was that for?" he groused.

"For being so bloody obvious," Harry grinned, never taking his eyes off of the confrontation taking place at the front of the Hall. It looked like Dumbledore had offered his office as a less-public meeting area, and the newcomer—Madam Poppins?-had tentatively agreed. Knowing what was coming next, Harry looked up at McGonagall, catching her eye. As he expected, she gave him a thin-lipped grin, then nodded her head to the side where the Headmaster was already disappearing from view.

Sighing, Harry stood up, but paused when Neville put his hand on his arm. "Whatever happens, Harry, we're your mates. Okay?"

Harry felt a slight blush of warmth reach his face, and couldn't help but grin. "Thanks, Neville," he said, relishing the support from his housemate. It was so different from they way he was used to being treated that he really wasn't sure how to manage it.

The surge of warmth that Neville's comment brought to Harry's face spread through his body and carried him all the way to the gargoyle guarding the entrance to the Headmaster's office. It was only as he stood there, stumped, that he realized that no one had given him the password. He was about to begin naming sweets at random, when the statue grated to one side, revealing the spiraling stairs behind.

When Harry arrived in the Headmaster's office, he found himself facing the usual crowd, with one addition. Madam Poppins was standing primly before the Headmaster, coolly gazing down at the older man. Headmaster Karkaroff, Headmistress Maxime and Professor Moody occupied the chairs in the office, while in one corner Snape lurked like a great greasy bat. Harry moved to the one unoccupied chair but only stood by it, not wanting to sit down without permission.

"Ah, there you are, Harry. I'd like you to meet Mary Poppins, who it seems has been dragged into this entire unfortunate misunderstanding along with you." Dumbledore went straight to introductions while gesturing for Harry to sit.

"Hello, Harry," Mary Poppins turned to smile gently at the small boy. "I'm Mary Poppins, and it seems that you and I will be spending quite a bit of time together these next few months."

"I hardly see how that matters, given that Potter obviously will be ineligible for the Tournament once he is expelled from Hogwarts," Snape fired from his corner.

"I rather doubt that will matter in the slightest, as this piece of paper states very clearly that Mr. Potter is now my student," Mary Poppins turned to the Potions Master, her voice as cold as liquid helium, one eyebrow arching carefully. "Since your oh-so-reliable Goblet of Fire," the scorn in her voice was unmistakable, "has created a binding contract between Mr. Potter and myself, I find that I have no option but to be his tutor for the next academic year. Therefore, I have come to collect him."

"And good riddance to bad rubbish," Snape fired back.

"Somehow, I suspect that Mr. Potter might say the same about you, given the chance to speak freely," Mary Poppins sniffed, then turned away, completely ignoring the black-robed man. Despite himself, Harry snickered, but no one noticed because of Professor Moody's guffaw.

"I'd heard that she was brilliant, but now I've seen it myself," the scarred old Auror laughed. "Not five minutes, and she's got you pegged, Snape."

"Alastor, Severus," Dumbledore said repressively. "And Mada...Mary Poppins," he caught himself. "None of this is helping us to resolve the situation we find ourselves in. Obviously, Harry cannot leave Hogwarts..."

"Rubbish." Mary Poppins interrupted the Headmaster.

"I beg your pardon?" Dumbledore's confusion hid his irritation at being interrupted quite well.

"There is no 'obviously' here except that Harry Potter must be my student for the next academic year," Mary Poppins gave the Headmaster's own words back to him in her own form. "The Goblet of Fire was somehow convinced that Harry is my student; I would like to hear from him as to just what he think happened." That said, she turned to Harry expectantly, motioning for him to sit.

Harry found himself sitting down before he even thought about moving. Then, looking up at the gently smiling face of Mary Poppins he took a deep breath. "I didn't put my name in the Goblet, er, Miss Poppins," he said carefully.

Mary Poppins smiled down. "Mary Poppins will do just fine, Harry," she said gently. "So how did your signature get on the paper?" she asked.

"I think that it was probably taken from one of my assignments, Mary Poppins," Harry answered. "The parchment looks like the same type that I use to write my essays on."

Mary Poppins nodded. "I suspected as much, Harry, especially when I noticed that the handwriting on the rest of the slip is different from that of your name."

Harry perked up at this last. "So, you can find out just who put my name in the Goblet?" he asked.

"Probably not, Potter," Professor Moody spoke up. "Anyone halfway competent would have used an inscribing spell, then erased his or her magical signature to prevent us finding it. Also, I've checked the Goblet. There's evidence of a _Confundus_ charm, just as I thought, but also traces of signature-erasing spells. I'd be surprised if that slip of paper doesn't show the very same thing."

"It does," Mary Poppins said coolly. "Also, I suspect that the original document has also been destroyed, to prevent us from using it to further the investigation into the real perpetrator's identity."

"I rather doubt that the original would be found, regardless," Moody said. "Most of the faculty, myself included, _Incendio_ essays after they're graded to keep the things from piling up. Assuming that the person responsible has access to the castle—which they must, given that they had to have access to the Goblet between the time it lit and young Potter's name came out—they must have 'acquired' one of Potter's essays to get his signature. That could have happened at any time since the beginning of the term, as the faculty and any number of people at the Ministry knew the Goblet of Fire would be used to select the champions."

"And not just your Ministry here," Karkaroff rumbled. "Coordinating the Triwizard Tournament took months, and involved any number of people in Ministries across Europe. The list of possible suspects must number in the hundreds," he finished.

"Including a fair number of former Death Eaters and sympathizers, eh, Karkaroff?" Moody asked. "Most of whom wouldn't shed a tear if Harry Potter wound up dead, as might be expected from entering a fourth year student into the Tournament."

"What are you implying, Moody?" Karkaroff rumbled.

"Well, I'm sure that this is all very interesting, but I see no need for my new student and I to have to witness it. Harry, please go and pack your trunk; I'll meet you at the front entrance to the castle as soon as you're done."

"Now see here!" Dumbledore thundered, rising from his seat. "Harry Potter must stay here at Hogwarts! It's the only place that he is safe!"

"Safe? Here?" Harry's voice broke on the last, then he checked himself.

"Harry?" Mary Poppins asked, tilting her head to one side.

"It's just that...well, there was that business with the Philosopher's Stone, and Voldemort's possession of Professor Quirrell. Then, the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets my second year, and Sirius' escape and all of the end-of-year madness we had then," he said, glancing to where Snape looked like he was going to explode in the corner. "So, no," Harry said, turning back to Mary Poppins, "I can't say that I feel really safe here."

"Be that as it may, my dear boy, you need to be trained for the Tournament, Harry. Also, there are...other considerations, not the least of which is your OWL and NEWT tests." Dumbledore brushed away Harry's objections. "Without an education, what will you do with yourself?"

"I think Mr. Potter will find that I am perfectly capable of providing him an adequate educational experience," Mary Poppins sniffed. "Of course, I can't guarantee that he will have to deal with professors who are possessed by Dark Lords, or creatures such as a basilisk; however, my educational credentials have been on file at the Ministry for at least as long as most of your faculty, Albus."

"I didn't mean to imply that you weren't qualified, Mary," the Headmaster said carefully. "Only that...there are other considerations involved with Harry's education that..."

"The only consideration which matters at this point, Albus, is that by your own silly rules, I am compelled to take Harry Potter as my student for the duration of the Triwizard Tournament, at the very least. If I fail to do this, or Mr. Potter fails to compete, both of us could loose our magic completely. Since neither of us wishes to risk that, then the matter is settled. Now, Harry, off with you, spit-spot; pack your things and meet me at the entrance." With a nod, Mary Poppins sent Harry scurrying out of the Headmaster's office, and then turned to face the sputtering man behind the desk. "Albus, I strongly suggest that you not try to keep us from leaving the castle."

"Mary, can we at least discuss this? Harry Potter must stay here at Hogwarts, there are things about him that you can't understand." Dumbledore tried one last gambit. "Perhaps, if we found a place for you on the faculty here..."

"I would still be bound by the contract of the Goblet, and also under your control as well, Albus. No, I think that I much prefer to take Mr. Potter and leave, so that I can teach him what he needs to know to survive this wretched Tournament. Good day, all!" And with that, Mary Poppins swept from the room, leaving behind a stunned group of wizards and witches.

* * *

><p>Somehow, Harry and his new Headmistress managed to leave the castle without further incident. Thus, Harry was spared the arrival of that morning's <em>Prophet,<em> and the utterly predictable reactions of his peers when they read what they already knew. Sadly, he also missed Neville's staunch defense of him at table that morning, but that couldn't be helped.

Over the next few days, Harry's classmates and professors found themselves reading tantalizing hints of what must have been a flurry of activity for the Boy Who Lived to Be Roped Into the Triwizard Tournament. With his sources in the Ministry and elsewhere, Albus Dumbledore had a slightly larger view of the proceedings, but that was only enough to annoy him. He even found himself gritting his teeth in anticipation of the morning paper, something that he had never, ever done before. Reading—and then seething over—the Prophet each morning made it quite difficult for him to maintain the aura of grandfatherly calm he worked so hard to project; so hard that after the second day he had taken to reading the paper in his office after leaving breakfast early.

Apparently, the very afternoon that Harry had been removed from Hogwarts, he and Mary Poppins had put in an appearance at Gringotts Wizarding Bank. The details of just what transpired then were not clear (the Goblins certainly weren't telling, and getting anything out of Mary Poppins was more than any reporter dared to manage), but the pair left shortly after arriving, only to reappear a short time later with a respected wizarding solicitor in tow. Their second meeting lasted until well past the bank's regular closing hours, when the now-trio was escorted from the bank by no less a personage than Ragnok, Chief and Head of the London branch himself.

The next day Harry, Mary Poppins and Edward Spindle (the solicitor) were at the Ministry bright and early, accompanied by Harry's new dog and an old family friend, Remus Lupin. 'Snuffles', a great black hound that had apparently seen better days, came with the group to a meeting with Madam Bones in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement that took up most of the morning and spilled itself into Bone's afternoon schedule. According to the _Prophet_, the group departed the Ministry for places unknown sometime shortly before teatime, with no further information being available at press time.

Of course, Albus knew a bit more than what the students read on Harry's second post-Hogwarts morning. In addition to his _Prophet_, he had received a number of letters; among them was a 'request' for his presence to remove the Fidelius charm from Number 12, Grimmauld Place that afternoon (a portkey for his convenience was included, as was a notice that the standard rates for his services would apply). There was also official notification that an investigation had been launched by Gringotts into the improper sealing of the wills of James and Lily Potter by the Wizengamot, a letter from Amelia Bones requesting a meeting to discuss certain 'irregularities' in the case of one Sirius Black, and a bill from Twilfitt and Tattings for four quite fetching custom-made robes in fuchsia, mauve, violet and saffron. He initialed the bill, authorizing payment from his vault, and smiled to see it vanish in the usual puff of smoke. Then, no longer smiling, he leaned back and considered just what all of the above implied. Oh, and he certainly intended to keep his appointment that afternoon at Grimmauld Place. Not only would he almost certainly be able to interrogate, er, question his old students Black and Lupin, but he strongly suspected that Harry Potter would be there as well. It would be the work of mere moments to _Legilimize_ the boy, and that would tell him all that he needed to know. Also, the standard fee for services for a wizard of his statue would more than cover the cost of his recent tailor's bill!

* * *

><p>While Dumbledore was considering whether or not he could justify ordering another robe or three this month, Amelia Bones was holding a press conference in the DMLE's conference room. She read a short statement, informing the press that, in light of new evidence, her office had dropped all charges against Sirius Black. Also, it appeared that in the confusion surrounding the demise of the Dark Lord some fourteen years earlier, Sirius Black had been sent to Azkaban without a trial; her Department was currently investigating just who had been responsible for such a gross miscarriage of justice and expected to be able to make a report to the Minister within the next four weeks.<p>

In the frantic question and answer session that followed, Director Bones was an island of calm in a sea of frenzy. Yes, she had more than enough evidence to justify dropping the charges against Black. No, she would not be revealing that evidence at this time. Yes, she indeed had other suspects under consideration. No, she would neither confirm nor deny that Peter Pettigrew was one of those under suspicion. No, the werewolf Remus Lupin was most certainly _**not**_ under suspicion in this matter; in fact, her impression was that he was an old friend of Lord Black's, and certainly was a friend and former professor to Harry Potter. Yes, her understanding—from _their_ papers, mind you—was that Harry Potter would be participating in the Triwizard Tournament. As the running of the Tournament itself was outside the purview of her Department, she had no further details about that; she did suggest that the Department of International Magical Cooperation would be the appropriate place to ask.

_*****__And good luck getting anything sensible or coherent out of THAT bunch of nincompoops__*****_ she thought, but didn't say.

No, she was not going to speculate on any compensation for wrongful imprisonment that might be awarded Lord Black; that was the proper concern of the Wizengamot and Minister, not her Department. No, Sirius Black would not be appearing today to make a statement; she understood that he had gone immediately to the south of France to recover from his ordeal. No, she had no idea as to when he would return. No, she had no idea as to whether nor not anyone, specifically Harry Potter, had accompanied him.

*_Well, I didn't actually see them take the portkey to the Riviera together, did I?_***** She justified her little white lie to herself. *_Merlin knows those two could use a bit of privacy, after what they've been through._*

No, she had no direct knowledge about the current status of the Potter wills; again, that was outside the purview of her Department until and unless concrete evidence of actual wrongdoing was presented to her for investigation. No, for the same reason, she had no knowledge *_officially, or that I'll spill to you lot_* as to whether or not Sirius Black would be assuming custody of Harry Potter, as he was now a free man and eligible to do so.

Apparently, some eager young reporter had discovered the boy's birth announcement that had been published in the _Prophet_ naming Lord Black as Godfather to the child. Well, no matter; by the time the truth came out, it would be a done deal. Amelia suspected that once the ink was dry on that particular parchment, Merlin himself wouldn't be able to get Harry away from Sirius...not with Mary Poppins AND Edward Spindle both in their corner.

And with that, Madam Bones announced that she had nothing more to add, and left the room. Behind her, the room exploded into motion as the reporters raced for the exits. Her press conference was going to be page 1 the next day, and each of them had the story to write up!

* * *

><p>That afternoon, Albus took the provided portkey into London and found himself deposited behind a tree in the park one block down from Number 12, Grimmauld Place. A quick swish of his wand transfigured his robes into a Muggle suit that would have been daring in the 1960s, and a brief stroll carried him to the appropriate address. There he found the solicitor, Edward Spindle, along with two short, squat men—obviously Goblins under glamours.<p>

"Chief Warlock," Mr. Spindle began, using his highest-ranking British title, as was appropriate, "thank you for coming today as requested."

"You are quite welcome, Mr. Spindle," Dumbledore replied. Of course, he knew the man by reputation, as well as his former time at Hogwarts—Slytherin, as Dumbledore recalled. "I rather expected Lord Black and Mr. Potter to be here," he said, looking around discretely.

"Both of them had other commitments, I'm afraid," Eddie Spindle lied. Well, it sounded better than 'both of them pretty much hate your guts, you old coot; they're probably on the beach by now, anyway'. "As I stand as solicitor for both of them, we can proceed without delay."

Dumbledore nodded, his face a mask of calm. "And when I recast the spell, who should be the secret keeper?" he asked.

"You're not redoing it," one of the Goblins rumbled. "Not after the disaster the Potter family went through. When you're done and gone, one of our teams will re-cast it; one of our senior staff will be the secret-keeper. Not going to get the secret out of a Goblin, no one isn't."

"I see," Dumbledore said, his thoughts racing. Indeed, not even Voldemort at his peak had dared to directly challenge the Goblins, especially inside Gringotts. The difficulties imposed by having a Goblin as secret-keeper might well be balanced by the added security it would provide. "Well, then, shall I begin?"

"Please," Eddie Spindle answered politely, while both Goblins just nodded curtly. Choosing to ignore their behavior—really, he'd come to expect no less from the surly beasts over the years—Dumbledore began the rather complicated task of unwinding the Fidelius charm on the townhouse. He wasn't worried about being noticed by passers-by, the Goblins having put up their own version of Notice Me Not charms before he arrived. Some ten minutes later, he lowered his wand and took a deep breath. Where previously there had been an empty space between Number 10 and Number 14, Grimmauld Place; now Number 12 stood plainly in view.

"Thank you, Chief Warlock," the solicitor nodded. "I'll see that the appropriate fee is transferred to your vault no later than tomorrow morning. You should find that the original portkey will return you to Scotland. Good day," he said, plainly dismissing the elder wizard.

"I'd very much like to see the Goblin version of the Fidelius cast," Dumbledore said, hoping that watching the spell being cast would give him some clue that he could use to work around it at need.

"Not allowed," one of the Goblins spat. "Now, go away, wizard; we've got work to do," he said, giving Dumbledore a glare that promised unpleasantness if he wasn't obeyed.

"Very well," the Headmaster answered, suppressing the urge to snap at the creature. "In that case, gentlemen, I bid you good day." Activating the portkey without walking away in a deliberate act of rudeness, he popped away.

"And good riddance to you, old meddler," Eddie Spindle muttered, as the Goblins went to work. All in all, this was going to be a productive day.

* * *

><p>If Dumbledore was none too happy about Amelia Bone's press conference, then he found himself absolutely livid when Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley brought him their letters from Harry Potter the next morning. Each was short and to the point; Harry was now in the legal custody of his godfather, and they had gone to France for a few days to rest, recuperate and bond. Harry thought that the whole situation with Sirius and Mary Poppins was 'brilliant'; that Remus was tagging along at Sirius' insistence made the whole thing even better. The letter made Harry sound happy and content—things that Albus had worked hard to prevent over the years. Damn that Mary Poppins! Already she had undone months—if not years—of work, keeping the boy depressed, repressed and completely dependent upon Albus Dumbledore!<p>

But of course, he couldn't let any of that show to his two spies. His eyes twinkling, he advised them to answer as they thought best, then shooed them out of his office, confident that each of them would torture Harry in their letters in their own unique way. Predictably, Miss Granger excoriated Harry mercilessly for failing to comply with the Headmaster's wishes and leaving Hogwarts. Just as predictably, Mr. Weasley choose not to reply but to sulk instead. Dumbledore knew this because he managed to intercept Miss Granger's letter, justifying the violation of the sanctity of the post 'for the greater good'. He also arranged for any further posts from Harry Potter to the duo to come to him first; however, none were forthcoming. Instead, Harry chose to write at intervals to Neville Longbottom, who flatly refused to show anyone, including the Headmaster or his Head of House, his letters to and from the Boy Who Lived. Reasoning that the content of the letters couldn't possibly be that important—after all, they were to Neville Longbottom, not one of Potter's close confidants—Dumbledore let the matter drop.

The next few weeks were marked by a spat of Harry Potter sightings in and around London, mostly in Diagon Alley and at Puddlemere United Quidditch Games. Initially these were front-page news, but as they continued without any incident, they very quickly moved back, then completely out of the papers. That Harry was always accompanied by Sirius Black—who was looking more and more robust every week—Remus Lupin and his Headmistress/Governess, Mary Poppins, was not only expected but rather boring and not newsworthy. A single incident at one match, with a handful of no-name 'Death Eaters' being quickly and efficiently dispatched by Harry, Remus and Sirius made page three of the Prophet, but since none of the perpetrators were Marked, nothing much was made of it. After that, Sirius laid on a pair of stern-looking off-duty Aurors in plain robes to accompany the group, which seemed enough to discourage any further attempts by wanna-bes. Of course, the fact that most of the first group needed several days in St. Mungo's to recover from the experience before they could be transferred to cells in the Ministry might have had something to do with the reluctance of the casual Potter-Hater to act on their desires to punish the Boy Who Smote The Dark Lord.

The main effect of these appearances seemed to be in challenging the _Prophet's_ staff to come up with new and interesting phrases to pepper their pages with.

There were a number of unconfirmed reports that Harry was also flying with Puddlemere at least once a week, but as the team's practices were closed to the public, these remained only rumors. None of the team or management of Puddlemere would comment, but a number of puff pieces ran in _Teen Witch Weekly_ about the 'close relationship' between Puddlemere's reserve seeker (and Harry's former Gryffindor captain) Oliver Wood and the Boy Who Lived.

Dumbledore thought that his first, best chance to probe Harry's mind might be at the official weighing of the wands. Harry's summons to the event (no other word would do, despite the polite wording of the 'invitation') had been delivered by Ministry owl a week in advance. When he didn't appear as ordered, there was some consternation until Ollivander himself cleared the matter up.

"Oh, Mr. Potter? He presented himself to my shop just yesterday; I can attest that his wand is indeed in fine shape." The elderly wand maker had brushed off any suggestion that his opinion might not be acceptable to the Ministry, and had been quite insulted by Dumbledore's insinuations to that effect.

"I assure you, Headmaster, I performed the same evaluation of Mr. Potter's wand that I intend to perform on the remainder of the Champion's wands. Or is the word of Ollivander no longer sufficient to assure the quality and functionality of a wand?"

Faced with the ire of Britain's foremost wand maker, Dumbledore had no choice but to agree that yes, Ollivander's word would be sufficient in this instance. The other participants also had no choice but to agree, and the weighing proceeded without any other complications.

Faced with the absence of the Boy Who Lived, Rita Skeeter had to console herself with interviews with Viktor Krum and Fleur Delacour—neither of whom were pleased when Rita all but declared the two of them engaged to be married...after Cedric Diggory, the Hogwarts champion, had dated, then dumped, both of them. Of course, that happened to be one of the highest-selling issues of the _Prophet_ in history, so the various threats by Krum's and Delacour's solicitors generally were ignored by her editors.

In the kitchen at Number 12, Grimmauld Place, the article was well-received; Harry promised Sirius that he'd be sure to ask the 'happy couple' where they were registered at the first task. After all, not to buy them a wedding gift would be the height of rudeness...

* * *

><p><em>Dear Neville:<em>

_ I hope that things are going well there at jolly old Hogwarts. Any new disappearances or petrifications to report? Just kidding. Things here are brilliant! Sirius and Remus are both helping me with my studies, and Mary Poppins is teaching me all kinds of things. She's even brought in several of her friends to help me get ready for the Tournament, but I really can't talk about that. I'll be seeing you the day before the first task. Hope that your Gran can come to the Task, I'll try to give a good accounting of myself._

_ Harry_

* * *

><p>"Harry! About time, mate!"<p>

Neville's greeting rang out across the Great Hall, causing a momentary lull in the conversation before the racket returned louder than ever. Every eye turned to see Harry Potter standing there, flanked by an elegantly attired Sirius Black, conservatively robed Remus Lupin and, of course, Mary Poppins.

A gasp went up as the students and faculty got a good look at the Boy Who Lived. Harry was tanned, fit, and several inches taller than he had been just a few weeks earlier. He was wearing tight muggle jeans and a Weird Sisters t-shirt, boots that looked like dragon hide, and his eyes shone a brilliant green with no horrid glasses to obscure them. Most of the girls (and more than a few of the boys) sighed as he sauntered to the Gryffindor table, moving with the grace of some great feline, long hair tied back with a black leather thong swinging down his back as he walked.

"Oi, Neville, budge over," Harry laughed, slapping his friend on the back as he slid onto the seat beside him. "Oh, the joys of a Hogwarts feast! Some things never change, eh?"

"Well, if it isn't the other Hogwarts champion," a sour voice came from Harry's left. "Come back to gloat some more, Harry?"

"Oh, hello, Ron. Still being a prat, I see," Harry said smoothly, giving Neville a wink. "Wait for it...three, two, one..."

"Honestly, Harry!" came Hermione's screech.

"Right on schedule," Harry whispered, nudging Neville, who stifled a laugh.

"You'd think that you'd have the decency to respond to my letters, Harry Potter! And what is that you're wearing? What happened to your school robes? Have you been keeping up with your studies? Next year is our OWL year, and if you fall behind there'll be no way you can possibly catch up, not even if I make out your revising schedule." The irritating whine kept on, oblivious to the rolled eyes and subtle (and not so subtle) faces and gestures that were being made.

"Well, then it's a good thing that I'll be taking my OWLS this spring, isn't it? Remus and Mary Poppins both think that I'll be more than ready by then, and it will be one less silly thing that I have to worry about." Harry grinned, completely unaffected by the tongue-lashing he was receiving.

"Wha...? This spring? But...but...you can't possibly be ready by then..." Hermione sputtered.

"Because I'm not as bright as you, and you won't be ready. Is that it, Hermione?" Harry asked, suddenly cold.

"Well, yes, of course...I mean, no, you've missed several weeks of classes already, and what about your fifth year?" Hermione struggled to cover her gaff.

"I've been quite impressed by Mr. Potter's intelligence, as well as his love of learning, when properly encouraged," a prim voice came from behind Harry. "Mr. Potter, it's time for your tonic. Now, open up!" Mary Poppins ordered, holding out a spoon full of purple liquid. The brown bottle in her other hand was the obvious source of the tonic.

"Yes, Mary Poppins," Harry said happily, opening his mouth for his governess to pop the spoon inside. "Mmmmm, raspberry ripple! What flavors did Sirius and Remus get?"

"Rum punch and lemonade," Mary Poppins smiled. "Now, remember, you may visit with your friends in their common room until eight thirty, no later. I want you back in our quarters no later than quarter of nine, understand?"

"Yes, Mary Poppins," Harry repeated, nodding earnestly as Mary Poppins strode away, heels clicking on the stones.

"Oh, did ickle Potter take his medicine like a good ickle boy?" Ron asked sarcastically. "Does she change your nappies too, Harry?"

"That tonic has done me more good physically than three years' care by Dumbledore's nurse," Harry snapped. "The physicians I saw in Paris diagnosed me with the complications of long-standing malnutrition as a child and told me I'd never reach my full growth. Mary Poppins said that was silly and began giving me a dose of medicine every morning and evening. If you're too blind to see the difference between me then and now, then you're blinder that I was without my glasses before. Which, by the way, you'll find that I no longer have, thanks to the magical contacts I'm wearing." Harry stared down his former best mate. "Or is it just that you're too jealous of me to be able to accept me as I am now...not one of your only friends like I was before?"

Ignoring both Ron and Hermione's sputtering and empty protests, Harry, Neville and the rest of the Gryffindors proceeded to enjoy themselves tremendously until Harry's curfew...and none of them missed the two irritating members of the former Golden Trio at all.

**A/N: ** Every HP Fanfic author has to write his or her own take on the Triwizard Tournament (it's a law, or something). Well, this plot bunny has been kicking around my head for months and months, but I never really had the time to work on it. Then, after two separate computer meltdowns and a modem meltdown, all I had was an old computer with a word processor, and no Internet. So, since I couldn't do anything else (all of my other pieces are on one of the melted-down computers) until parts arrived to fix them, I started on this. As with most of my stuff, it turned out to be much longer than I'd anticipated; still, it was an enjoyable piece of fluff to write.

This piece began in an attempt to answer one of the great, unsolved mysteries of canon: just what school did the Goblet think Harry was representing? Logically, the Confundus charm either convinced the Goblet to conveniently 'forget' about the other Hogwarts champion, or 'know' that Harry was attending another school. There have been a number of fics that tacitly assume the first, but I'm not aware of any that begin with the second assumption and proceed from there—if there are, I'd like to read them.

From that point, well, who else in Britain might have a school for Harry to attend? Nanny McPhee already has a job, after all; so, why not the most famous magical Governess in English history? For those of us 'old folks', Mary Poppins was THE magical figure of our childhood (well, she and Samantha Stevens, and Jeannie, but they're both in America and don't count). That was all well before JKR, of course…as strange as it may be to imagine a world without Harry Potter; well, that's the way it was.

Expect this piece to be posted fairly rapidly, as it's already finished. I'll be putting it up in the intervals between trying to catch up on nearly three weeks of 'net isolation.

**Next Chapter:** The First Task! Guess whom Mary Poppins has brought in to help Harry prepare? I would drop hints, but that would be CHEATING!


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** And now, the first Task in the Alternative Tournament, as well as the Yule Ball. We get to meet the first of Harry's other Professors, as well as his date for the Yule Ball (it probably won't be who you think). ** WARNING: **this chapter contains implied SLASH; if you can't handle that, stop NOW. There's also a definite mention of Harem Boy!Harry, chained to a bedpost….

**Disclaimer:** as in Chapter 1. This is not being done for profit, but purely as homage to the characters and their creators.

**Chapter 2**

The next morning dawned clear and cold. Neville and the rest of the Gryffindors bundled up against the Scottish fall before trooping down to the arena where the first task was going to be held. As they were on their way, they were interrupted by a call from near the entrance.

"Neville! Neville Longbottom!"

"Gran!" Neville laughed, running to embrace the formidable woman. "You made it!"

"Of course I did," Augusta Longbottom sniffed, smiling despite herself. "You invited me, didn't you? Now come, we're going to be sitting near the Headmasters."

Neville waved his friends away, ignoring Ron's envious stare as he escorted his Grandmother up the steps to the official boxes. They were just getting settled when Sirius Black arrived with his party—Remus Lupin, Mary Poppins, and a strange witch that Neville didn't recognize. Curiously, a series of gasps and hushed cries as the strange witch's face came into view followed them into the stands.

The newcomer was tall and slender, clad in a black and purple robe that flowed behind her in a way vaguely reminiscent of bat wings. With a casual move, she doffed her hood, revealing a beautiful pale face (with just a hint of green to her skin) and startling yellow eyes. A black skullcap covered her hair, and her cloak was fastened with a silver clasp in which an extremely large stone glowed with faint green light. Aside from that, her only other jewelry was a gold ring with a large black round stone setting.

"Remus, Sirius, Mary Poppins...how nice to have you here," Dumbledore was saying. "And who is this with you?" he asked. Then, he froze in place as he saw the face of the witch following behind Mary Poppins. "Lady Maleficent," he grated, eyes flashing. "How...kind of you to grace us with your presence."

"Ah, Albus Dumbledore, charming as always," the witch said in a pleasant voice. "A simple 'Madam' will be sufficient; since that unpleasant business with Princess Aurora and Prince Phillip, I no longer claim any titles other than that. Olympe, how nice to see you here; Igor, you as well," she said, turning to the other Heads while Fudge and several others from various Ministries merely stood and sputtered.

"Maleficent," Olympe Maxime hissed, her hand twitching towards her wand.

"I would remind everyone that the faculty and staff of the various schools involved in the Triwizard Tournament have complete immunity during the Tasks and any other Tournament-related events," Mary Poppins voice coolly sliced through the background noise. "Madam Maleficent was kind enough to agree to assist me in Harry's lessons these past few weeks; as such, she can be considered to be a Professor at the Poppins Institute." The prim woman gave a tight smile. "Since it has already been established that the Poppins Institute is an active and valid participant in this Tournament, the rules should apply to all of my faculty just as they do to the other schools." Here she gave Igor Karkaroff a flat stare before turning back to Dumbledore. "Or is it merely former Death Eaters who are extended such a courtesy?" she finished. "If not, then we shall consider the contract of the Goblet abrogated by the hosting Ministry; my Champion will immediately withdraw from this Tournament, and we will all take our leave."

"Nnn..no! Of course not!" Ludo Bagman sputtered. When Edward Spindle's barrister partner, A. P. B. Gallsworthy, had appeared in his office to file the paperwork for the Poppins Institute of Practical Magic, Bagman had initially laughed it off as a huge joke. He hadn't been laughing when Gallsworthy argued that the binding magical contract created by the Goblet was not only _a priori_ evidence, _de facto_ as well as _de jure_, of the existence of the Poppins Institute, but also binding on the other Ministries involved as well. In short, Gallsworthy argued, for the British Ministry to deny the school recognition would be to violate the contract, with consequences for every witch and wizard in Europe that he refused to guess at.

"Rubbish" was Bartholomew Crouch's response.

"What!" was Cornelius Fudge's reaction.

"Hmm...quite possibly, he's correct," was the opinion of the Unspeakable Bagman managed to corner. "We could all loose our magic if the school isn't allowed to compete."

"Handle it as you see fit," Dumbledore told him, speaking as Chief Warlock.

"I find your arguments quite compelling," Bagman said, stamping the paperwork before sending it along to Griselda Marchbanks at the Wizarding Examinations Authority for final approval.

"I'm sure that everything will be fine," Bagman pressed on, looking frantically from face to face in the Head's box. "After all, we're all friends here, isn't that right?"

"I'm only here to see my student do well," Maleficent said calmly, taking her seat with an easy fluidity.

"Indeed," echoed Mary Poppins, taking her seat beside her with equal grace.

"I suppose," Headmistress Maxime hissed, before turning away and pointedly ignoring the other witch.

Ludo Bagman flushed, then collected himself. "Yes, well..." Then, he took a deep breath, raised his wand to his throat, and began announcing the beginning of the first task.

* * *

><p>"And now, the Champion for the Poppins Institute...HARRY POTTER!" Bagman's voice rang out.<p>

The fourth Champion strode from the entrance as though he hadn't a care in the world. Harry looked up at the Hungarian Horntail standing watch over her clutch of eggs, searching around for something or someone to vent her anger and indignation upon. If Harry had to guess, he'd say that she was about to reach the point of not being terribly picky about just who was the 'ventee'.

Harry smiled. This was just what he had trained for, there was no need for him to worry; it was just a dragon. Granted, it was the most dangerous dragon of the lot, and she was terribly, terribly angry, but still...he had a trick or two up his sleeve.

Concentrating, Harry focused his energy inward, seeking out his magical core, touching it and convincing it to bend his lithe frame to his will. Then, with a great push, he felt himself began to change...and change...and CHANGE.

"YES!" he roared, throwing back his head and shouting his triumph to the skies. Across the enclosure, the Horntail looked at him, confused.

"He's a great bloody dragon! How'd he ever manage that?" Neville blurted, gripping his grandmother's arm.

"It's called magic, dear," Augusta laughed. Oh, this was well worth the effort of the trip, just to see the looks on the faces around her!

"He must have known!" Karkaroff thundered. "This is clear evidence of cheating! I demand that the task be repeated!"

"I'm afraid that I must agree with Headmaster Karkaroff," Dumbledore shook his head sadly. His thoughts began racing, trying to find some loophole that he could use to pry Harry Potter away from the irritating woman's clutches and return the brat to Hogwarts, and to his control.

"Oh, pish posh! Did you seriously think that you could drag three dragons across the length and breadth of Europe and another up from the Welsh preserve without anyone noticing? Really, Albus," Mary Poppins drawled.

"I find it strangely coincidental that each of the previous Champions didn't seem at all surprised to see their dragons," Maleficent remarked. Her voice was casual, the tone something that might ordinarily be used to comment on the weather, or an article in the _Prophet_. "Most wizards and witches would have either fainted or run screaming at the first sight of the beasts. Instead, they all acted like it was something they'd been told to expect. Now, our Harry," she went on, "was only told to expect a large magical creature; anything from a hippogryph to a basilisk. Fortunately, he's a natural at self-transfiguration, one of the most gifted young wizards I've ever encountered. Pity his potions education was so horrible before I began working with him. Can you believe that no one had ever bothered to teach him the correct way to prepare ingredients before starting in on brewing? Horrible, I tell you, simply horrible. Still and all, he's made remarkable progress; he could make a fine Potions Master one day, given even half-way adequate training."

"Indeed," Mary Poppins agreed. "Bright as a new penny, he is. I don't think I've ever seen anyone blossom under a few simple compliments like he has. Doesn't speak well of his early upbringing, I should think."

The two women's conversation was largely ignored (except for Severus Snape, who was turning a lovely shade of puce), as most of the people in the stands were focused on the spectacle below. The sleek black dragon that had been Harry Potter was now coiling itself against the Hungarian Horntail, rumbling in his chest in a soothing manner. A conversation in what could only be dragon speak was in progress, with hisses and low-pitched roars being traded back and forth. After a few minutes of this, the Horntail darted her head down to inspect her eggs. Then, with a convulsive flick of one claw, she sent the fake golden egg spinning out of the nest before turning back to nuzzle Harry's neck. It took Harry another few minutes to extricate himself from the Horntail's embrace so that he could transform back to his usual self. Once he was safely Harry again, he scurried across the grounds to retrieve the golden egg. Holding it aloft, he went to stand in front of the judges' box, with only an occasional nudge from the now-relaxed (and _very_ friendly) Horntail to make him stumble.

"Well done, Harry!" Mary Poppins raised her parrot-head umbrella so that a ribbon of yellow could jet from the tip, forming a large '10' in the air over her seat.

"Yes, well done, Harry!" Ludo Bagman agreed, also giving Harry a perfect score.

"A disgusting display of foreknowledge of the task," Karkaroff rumbled, raising his wand and giving Harry a '2'.

"A rather interesting approach to the situation, however," Madam Maxime said, then considered briefly before giving Harry a '6'.

"I'm more concerned about the Dark potential of such a skill," Dumbledore muttered, then gave Harry a '5'.

Hearing him, Maleficent only laughed. "Well, I suppose if anyone should know about 'Dark Potentials' it would be the 'Great' Albus Dumbledore," she quipped. "Tell me, Albus, how is Gellert doing, by the way?"

Dumbledore stiffened, then turned to the foreign witch. "He remains imprisoned for his crimes...a fate which you've thus far managed to escape."

Maleficent laughed again. "Could that be because, for all of my alleged sins, I've never tried to eliminate an entire race of people, Albus? Or had a hand in plunging a continent into bloody war? Remind me again, just how many millions of people died because of your 'friend' and his little ally with the bad mustache?"

"That will be quite enough." Even though Mary Poppins voice was soft, it cut through the noise around the judges' box, effectively ending the confrontation between Maleficent and Dumbledore. "The task is completed, and I think that we all have Champions to congratulate. Come along, Maleficent," she said, sweeping out of the box.

* * *

><p>In the Champion's tent Harry Potter sat there, clutching his golden egg, while Poppy Pomphrey fussed over him.<p>

"Hold still, Mr. Potter! How can I examine you, with you wiggling like that...and put that blasted egg down!"

Harry grinned at the school nurse unrepentantly. "I'm fine, Madam Pomphrey, really. The dragon was really nice, and didn't hurt me at all. Well, except by accident," he clarified; rolling a shoulder that was a bit tender from an overly enthusiastic nudge.

Nurse Pomphrey was on him in a flash. "Shoulder contusion, no significant damage to the bones or ligamentous structure," she said, waving her wand over the joint. "I'll give you a salve to reduce the bruising, but you'll be sore for a day or so." Stepping back, the Hogwarts nurse lowered her voice and asked gently. "Really, Harry, how are you? You've certainly grown, more than I'd ever hoped. You must be eating well, I was never able to put so much meat on your skinny bones."

Harry smiled up at one of the only people he felt truly cared for him. "Really, I'm great, Poppy. You know that Mary Poppins took Sirius and me to the hospital in Paris to be checked out." He paused as the nurse nodded; she'd gotten a thick sealed packet from Healer Latour, which she had—as requested—not placed in Harry's school file. "He gave me a round of potions, and then every evening Mary Poppins does the same with her tonic. The worst thing has been the growing pains, but they're not too bad," he shrugged. "Oh, and contacts are brilliant, don't you think?" he asked, looking up at her, green eyes glowing.

"I do indeed, Harry," Poppy Pomphrey agreed, and then cleared her throat. "Well, Mr. Potter, I think that should do it," she said in a normal voice. Handing him a small sealed pot she went on. "Apply this salve to your shoulder two or three times a day until the bruising resolves, and do try not to get into any more trouble while you're here."

Harry hopped down from the raised table easily. "Trouble, Poppy? Me?"

"Oh, get on with you now," the nurse swatted at Harry's backside, which he easily dodged as he ran to the tent entrance. "Sirius! Remus! Catch!" he cried, tossing the golden egg towards his Godfather and friend.

"Well done, Harry!" Remus said, his were-enhanced reflexes letting him snatch the egg from the air before it could hit the ground.

"Great job, pup," Sirius crowed, lifting Harry up into a great squeezing hug. "You'll have to watch on the omnioculars tonight, just to see the crowd's reaction to your transformation. I thought that old Snape was going to piss himself when he finally noticed what you'd done."

"Finally noticed? I transfigured myself into a great bloody dragon, and he didn't notice at first? Just what was the berk doing?" Harry wondered.

"Being angry at Madam Maleficent for her description of his utter lack of teaching skills," Remus clarified. "She was praising your potions work—after those three days of remedial ingredient preparation and properties that she took you through—and being none too kind about Severus' methods while she was doing so."

Harry shrugged, supremely unconcerned. "Serves him right. I never knew just how much fun potions could be until she started teaching me. I can't help but wonder just how many people the greasy git's soured on the whole subject just by being such a great thumping prat of a professor."

"Far too many, I'm sure," Maleficent said, coming up to the group. "I'm just happy that I had some small part in awakening your own skills in that area, Harry," she smiled. "Now, let's talk about your transformation during the task. I noticed that it seemed to take you an extra second or two to gather your concentration, which in a combat situation might well prove dangerous, if not fatal."

Harry just rolled his eyes while Mary Poppins interrupted. "There will be plenty of time for that tomorrow, I should think," she said lightly. "For now, I believe that Harry deserves a chance to rest, and to bask in his well-earned achievement. Run along and see your friends, Harry; we will see you later at dinner. There may very well be ice cream, I understand."

"Great! Thanks, Mary Poppins! Sirius, Remus, Maleficent," Harry nodded, then raced away to where Neville Longbottom and his grandmother were waiting to see him.

Remus Lupin cleared his throat before turning to Madam Maleficent. "Maleficent, I owe you an apology."

"Nonsense, Remus, you owe me nothing of the sort," Maleficent waved away the werewolf's concern.

"No, I do," Remus set his jaw then plunged onward. "When Mary Poppins brought you into the household, all I knew about you was your reputation, and I was terrified that you would corrupt Harry, or slaughter us all in our beds, or some such. I see now just how wrong I was to prejudge you, and beg your forgiveness."

Maleficent smiled, then took the werewolf's hand. "And I was a bit concerned about sharing a house with a werewolf, Wolfsbane potion or not. It seems that we both were guilty of the same thing, so if you can forgive me, then I can forgive you."

"Certainly," Remus smiled. "I would like to sit in when you critique Harry's performance, if you'll allow it. I can't help but wonder if there aren't a number of similarities between the were transformation and the self-transfiguration you've taught Harry."

"Oh, sweet Merlin, there they go," Sirius rolled his eyes. "They'll be at this for hours now! Come along, Mary Poppins...I think you mentioned ice cream?"

"Why, Lord Black, I do believe I did," Mary Poppins smiled as she took Sirius' arm. "Shall we go investigate the kitchens?"

"We shall indeed!" Sirius said, and led the way out of the tent and into the milling throng.

* * *

><p>Harry spent the afternoon and early evening catching up with Neville, Seamus, Dean and the other Gryffindors. After brief encounters with Ron and Hermione, he quickly realized that his former friends were not going to be as supportive as he might have hoped. All Hermione wanted to do was grill Harry incessantly about what he'd been doing since he left Hogwarts, alternating with lectures about how his transformation violated several of so-and-so's Laws of transfiguration and how that type of magic was dangerous and therefore prohibited by the Ministry, and probably Dark, as well.<p>

Harry listened to about three minutes of this nonsense before he'd had quite enough.

"So, just to be clear, Hermione...what I did was impossible, and illegal, and Dark, and I've been neglecting my studies—even though I'm rather far ahead of you lot. Does that about sum it up?"

"Well, I don't know that I'd say that, Harry, it's just..." Hermione tried to recover from being interrupted.

"No, I think you've said enough," Neville broke in. "Why don't you just go and bother someone else, Granger? I think Harry's pretty much summed up everything you've had to say since he arrived, and quite frankly, I'm getting a bit tired of your attitude. Just because you don't know everything about something doesn't mean that it's necessarily evil."

"It doesn't mean it isn't, either!" Ron Weasley put in hotly. "He turned himself into a great bloody black dragon, in front of all of us! If that doesn't make him Dark, then I don't know what does!"

Harry, stung by this from his former best mate, turned his head while Dean Thomas leaped to his defense. "I suppose that if it'd been Cannon orange that it'd be okay then, Weasley? What a sorry kind of mate you are! You've done nothing since Harry left except whine and bitch about Harry cheated this and Harry always gets that...did you ever once stop to think about what Harry has to do to get all that? First a great raving maniac of a dark wizard murdered his mum and da, and then he winds up fighting that same Dark Lord again in his first year here. Just now, he faced down a sodding dragon! I didn't see you down there rolling those dice, did I? Didja ever notice how you're always the odd man out this year? Without Harry's coattails for you to ride on, you're a truly useless piece of shite, you are. Sure, you're the youngest boy in your family, and you don't have all the tosh you'd like...but even if you was rich as Malfoy, you'd still be a whiny little bitch about something or other. Now, get out of my sight before I give you what me mum gave me da when he'd been too long down to the pub!

"Why, I ought to..." Ron stood up, only to be firmly put back down by two strong hands on his shoulders.

"Ought to..."

"What, Ronnikins? Run and..."

"Tell the Headmaster just how..."

"Harry's friends have finally..."

"Called you out?" Fred and George Weasley stood over their brother, looking down on him. Their usually sunny expressions were—for once—dark and stormy.

"Ickle Harry here's been..."

"Like a brother to you..."

"And the rest of us..."

"These last three..."

"Going on four..."

"Years now..."

"He even saved..."

"Our dear sister..."

"When you flaked out..."

"Were useless, really..."

"Just like always..."

"You'd rather whine..."

"About things you don't have..."

"Than make do..."

"And be thankful..."

"For what you have..."

"And that includes..."

"Especially includes..."

"Friends who'll tolerate your shite..."

"Even when they don't have too..."

"Or when you go on too far, or too long..."

"Which is now, like always..."

"So shut your gob..."

"And go run and tattle to Dumbledore..."

"Just like he's told you to do..."

"Like the good little rat you are!"

His face even redder than his hair, Ron did a kind of slide-roll off of the couch to escape the twin's hands, then scurried for the door. He tried to slam it behind him, but couldn't; Hermione was right behind him, and she caught the door, almost breaking her arm in the process. When they were gone, Harry looked up at the twins, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

"Thanks Fred, George."

"Not a problem, Harry."

"He's needed to hear that for a long time."

"And he really will go to the Headmaster."

"He and Hermione have been called there for regular reports..."

"Ever since you left."

"Well then, it's a pity that they don't know anything worth telling, isn't it?" Neville smirked. "You might want to keep it that way, Harry. Not that I'm trying to tell you what to do, or anything, but..." Longbottom shrugged.

Harry nudged his friend's shoulder. "Not that anyone ever tries to do that," he said. The rest of the evening was quite pleasant, but Harry begged off early, saying that he'd promised the Horntail that he'd come back and spend some time with her. This, of course, set off a whole slew of teasing comments that made Harry blush and most of the rest of the Gryffindors laugh.

"Her name is..." Harry said, then let out a long hiss-roar-aackk sound, then grabbed his throat. "Ow, that hurts. Anyway, she's lonely, and upset, and afraid for her eggs. One of the other mothers lost an egg earlier in the day, and she's worried that hers are next. I don't know what the Ministries were thinking, bringing nesting dragons here! They're rare and endangered, and now there'll be one less baby dragon come spring, all because of this stupid tournament."

"I'm sure that every precaution was taken," one of the Gryffindors ventured carefully.

"And yet, an egg was destroyed, just to give a bunch of idiots a spectacle!" Harry answered hotly. Then, he shook his head. "Maybe if you could talk to them, like I can, you'd understand. How would you lot like it if your family were taken by, say, the Goblins; dragged down under Gringotts and forced to participate in their yearly games?"

All around Harry, eyes went wide as his analogy hit home. The Goblin Games were the stuff of legend and nightmare, and wizarding children for centuries had been threatened with being taken by the Goblins for the games.

His point made, Harry took his leave after promising Neville that he'd stay in touch.

* * *

><p>Some time later, a tired Harry Potter dragged himself back into the guest quarters where he and the rest of his small group were staying. He found Mary Poppins waiting up for him, a single candle burning in the room as she sat and rocked, humming.<p>

"Oh, I'm sorry I'm so late, Mary Poppins," Harry began explaining. "It's just that..." he paused, then cleared his throat, "the Horntail and I got to talking, you see, and time got away from me."

"It's all right, Harry," his governess said gently. "I thought as much. Now, come here, take your medicine and tell me just what you and she were discussing at such great length."

Nodding, Harry complied. "Mmm, chocolate syrup. Where are Sirius and Remus and Maleficent?"

"Gone down into Hogsmeade. I expect that we'll need several doses of hangover potion tomorrow," the elder witch said, the corners of her lips twitching. "Fortunately, my medicine bottle can take care of that, as we need them. Here, I had the elves make up some hot chocolate, to help you sleep."

"Mmm, thank you, Mary Poppins," Harry said once again, taking the steaming mug. "When are you going to teach me to make my own medicine bottle?" he asked, suddenly very sleepy.

"It's far beyond your NEWT level material, so not for another year, at least," came the answer, as if from far away. "Now then, tell me about the dragon."

"She's so lonely; her mate was left behind, just like all of the others. Did you know that dragons mate for life, Mary Poppins? No one bothered to explain what was going on, or why; the first idea she had that something might be up was when a bunch of wizards charged her, shooting stunning spells. The next thing she knew, she was tied up in a great huge crate on the back of this huge flying carpet, halfway across Europe from the reserve where she lives."

"I see. That does seem more than a bit rude."

"Mm hm. She's very sad for the mother who lost an egg. Dragons only mate every few decades, and the eggs take almost a year to hatch. She doesn't know what she'd do if she lost an egg. Probably go mad with grief, but then the wizards around her would put her down, and that would leave her babies orphans." Harry settled down on the couch and sleepily turned his head. "Mary Poppins, if something happens to her, can I help find her babies a new home? I told her that I know Charlie in Romania, and Hagrid would always like a pet dragon, even if he lives in a wood house."

"I'm certain that something could be arranged. Now, off to bed with you," Mary Poppins carefully took the empty mug from Harry's fingers, then led him to bed. Gently helping him into his pajamas, she saw him tucked in safely. He was asleep from the moment his head touched the pillow. For a long moment, Mary Poppins stood over him, just watching him sleep. Then, she reached down and moved a lock of his hair out of his face. "Sleep well, Harry Potter. You have certainly been the hero this day."

Then, leaving a candle burning in case he awakened in the night, Mary Poppins left the room, humming softly.

* * *

><p>"I tell you, the boy used Dark Magic!" Severus Snape groused.<p>

"Oh, shut it, Snape!" Professor Alastor Moody fired back. "You're just bent out of shape because Maleficent called you on your lack of teaching skills!" He took a swig from his cup. "It's not like it's a new thing," he muttered into his cup.

"What was that?" Snape roared, moving to stand.

"That's ENOUGH!" Dumbledore snapped. "The question remains, just what is Harry Potter being taught, and how can we get him back here at Hogwarts."

"No, the question is, just what penalty will be enforced on him for his blatant cheating in the first task," the Durmstrang Headmaster insisted.

"Absolutely nothing," Dumbledore said, flatly. "Look, Karkaroff, if we assess a penalty, then his 'Headmistress'," he hissed, not caring just who saw his hatred for the woman, "will insist on using Veritiserum on all of the other Champions, to see if..."

"...who," Moody interrupted.

"...who," Dumbledore corrected himself, glaring at his DADA professor, "gave them their own advance knowledge. And, knowing her, she'll have Rita Skeeter right behind her all the time. No, I know what goes on in my own castle, ladies and gentlemen! There will be no penalty against Harry Potter. This time."

"And next time? What can any task possibly offer as a challenge to a young man who can change himself into a dragon at will?" Madam Maxime was beside herself.

"We will have to institute a new rule preventing such a change," Ludo Bagman said hesitantly. "I suppose there might be precedent..."

"Sod the precedent, this is Harry Potter we're talking about here," Snape bit out. "Little bugger lives to break the rules, just like his father. Make the new rule and be done with it!"

"Severus is correct," Dumbledore said, giving his Potions Master a repressive look. He'd heard exactly what Maleficent said to Snape, and agreed with it. Still, it suited his purposes to have Snape exactly where he was, doing exactly what he was doing. "We will simply have to make the rule, and announce that we are doing so out of fairness. If done correctly, I'm sure that the _Prophet _and other rags, er, publications, will provide the correct...interpretation of our motives."

"Namely, that none of your students can match Harry Potter—or Mary Poppins' training—so you have to rig the rules against him, and call it 'fairness'." Mad-Eye Moody hawked and spat, then glared around the room with both his normal and magical eye. "'Bout sums that up, don'cha think?"

"I would not have put it so crudely, but yes," Madam Maxime agreed, while Dumbledore and Karkaroff nodded.

"What I thought," Moody said, then stamped out of the room.

* * *

><p><em>Dear Neville,<em>

_ Have you got a date for the stupid Yule Ball yet? I got an owl last week telling me that I have to be there, and I have to have a date. I can't take who I want, and I can't just skive off...maybe the twins could think of something? Please ask them for me. Hedwig is the only owl I trust to carry my mail, someone (? old coot) has been trying to interfere with her. She's too smart for him, though. Also, Remus helped me find a spell or two in the Black library that helps protect her, and what she's carrying. If somebody else beside you tries to take a letter from her, STAND BACK!_

_ Your mate,_

_ Harry_

* * *

><p>"I want to ask Oliver!"<p>

"Harry, they'll say you're a shirt-lifter!"

"Sirius, what if I am? What then?"

"Then, pup, I'll have the best shirt-lifter of a godson in the realm, and sod anyone who says differently. Just...I don't think now would be a good time for you to..."

"To what? Come out? Announce to the world at large that their 'Savior' likes to kiss boys?"

"HAS HE KISSED YOU? I'LL KILL HIM!"

_ "TOUCH ONE HAIR ON HIS HEAD AND I'LL __**EAT**__ YOU!"_

"That will be quite enough, both of you."

"Yes, Mary Poppins." "Sorry, Mary Poppins."

"Now, despite what we might all think about the Yule Ball, Harry is required to have an escort. I believe that I have an ideal choice in mind, but I will have to make some arrangements. Until then, there will be no further arguments about the matter. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Ma'am." "Yes, Mary Poppins."

"Good. Remus, keep them from doing anything overtly stupid for the morning, will you? I have to go out for a bit. I'll be back in time for lunch, and then we will begin reviewing yesterday's Arithmancy homework.

"Certainly, Mary Poppins. I'll do my best to keep things under control."

"I hate Arithmancy."

"Shut it, Padfoot; you said you'd brush up on it with me."

"Would you really eat me, pup?"

"No. You'd probably taste all manky and stuff."

"He'd give you hairballs."

"Ewwwwwwwwww."

"Not helping, Remus."

* * *

><p>The afternoon of the Yule Ball eventually came, and the castle itself seemed to be holding its breath in anticipation of...something. All of the drama of the last few weeks—getting dates, dancing lessons—seemed to fade as the girls disappeared into their rooms, leaving the boys with nothing to do for four hours except hang around the common room, play exploding snap, and perspire furiously.<p>

Mary Poppins had sent an owl to Albus Dumbledore, informing him that she, her school's Champion, his escort, and a small accompanying party of instructors and their escorts would be arriving on the evening of the Ball. No rooms would be required for this visit, as they would also be leaving at the conclusion of the Ball.

The parchment itself was of the finest quality, and topped by an ornate masthead and coat of arms (a chalice above crossed broom and umbrella) of the Poppins Institute for Practical Magic. Oddly, no founding date was given.

The letter went on to state that all of the parties from the Poppins Institute were aware of their status as media figures. They would understand, of course, if the press were present at their arrival and departure but requested that a suitable distance be maintained for the safety of the party. All of the members of the party would also make themselves available at some time during the evening for photographs, but no interviews would be given. As Headmistress, she was expecting him to manage the arrangements with the press to accommodate her group in accordance with their wishes; the other schools could make whatever arrangements they liked.

Dumbledore's response was to hand the letter to Minerva McGonagall and tell her to handle it.

The Deputy Headmistress suppressed (yet another) sigh and did just that, replying to Headmistress Poppins on Hogwarts letterhead that her wishes would be accommodated and that she looked forward to seeing them on the date of the Ball, etc. etc. She then wrote a stern letter to the _Prophet_, with copies to all of the other British wizarding papers and magazines, to explain to them just how they would comport themselves during the Ball.

The end result of all of this was that a small horde of press had gathered on either side of the entrance to the Great Hall. Magical ropes cordoned off the press area from the rest of the halls and the entrance itself, but most of the students were caught staring at the press as they came and went about their business. The Great Hall itself had been closed since the end of lunch; snacks were available in all of the common rooms, and for those students who wouldn't be attending, the house elves would be serving the evening meal there as well.

Finally, the hour of the Ball approached. The students began filtering down the stairs (or up, in the case of the Slytherins), gradually forming up into couples. A knot of boys without dates gathered on one side, while a similar group of girls gathered on the other. Professor McGonagall had just sent Cedric Diggory and Viktor Krum and their dates (and was that Hermione Granger? Sweet Circe! She looked nothing at all like her usual self) off to a small antechamber and was looking for Fleur Delacour when a commotion began at the entrance.

Looking out, she saw a stately black coach drawn by six great horses pulling up at the main stairs. Liveried attendants scrambled off the thing as it pulled to a stop, putting down a small step and opening the door for the occupants of the carriage to disembark. A tall footman stepped away from the carriage to stand off to one side, bellowing the names of the arrivals as they left the confines of their transport.

"Now arriving: the Headmistress of the Poppins Institute, Mary Poppins, escorted by Mr. Bertram Sweeps...the Champion of the Poppins Institute, Lord Harry Potter, escorting the Lady Augusta Longbottom...Professor Lord Sirius Black, escorting Miss Adelphia Eubanks...Professor Remus Lupin, Seneschal to House Potter, escorting Miss Dorothea Ratcliff."

The press went wild, while most of the students crowded up against the ropes to see for themselves. Mary Poppins stepped down gently, helped by the tall, spare, elegant older man who then proceeded to take her arm, leading her up the steps with a somber look on his face. Harry Potter came next, helping Neville's grandmother out of the carriage, an identical somber look on his face. Sirius stepped out, wincing as yet another flurry of flashbulbs went off, then grinned and helped a lovely young lady out of the carriage before following his godson up the steps. Lastly, Remus helped another young lady to step out, then take his arm for the procession up the steps.

At the top of the main steps, Mary Poppins and her escort stopped. "Hello, Minerva," she said lightly. "As promised, we are here."

"So I see, Mary. Well, it's almost time. If you would, go around to the faculty entrance on the left, Albus and the other Heads are already inside, I believe," she asked, gesturing with her hand, "I'll need to ask you two," she said, speaking to Sirius and Remus, "to say here and follow the students into the Hall. Now, Harry...and Augusta," she said, finally speaking to the Poppins Champion and his 'date', "if you'll come with me, please. The Champions must lead the procession into the Hall."

Harry and Augusta both nodded, Harry answering for both of them. "Of course, Professor," he smiled, nodding slightly. McGonagall couldn't help but notice that the boy had grown almost another hand. He was taller than Augusta Longbottom, even a bit taller than McGonagall herself. And, he looked quite the dashing figure in his expertly tailored evening robes.

The Lady Longbottom caught her in the act. "Stop ogling my date, Minnie," she whispered, making both the Deputy Headmistress and Harry blush hotly. "If you ask nicely, I might let you dance with him later on," she went on, as they were ushered into the room where the other three couples were waiting.

"Oi! Right here!" Harry protested, earning himself a wink from the smiling dowager on his arm.

"Oh, hush, youngster. Minnie and I may be old, but neither of us are dead quite yet. Why, in our day, we both had quite a few young men..."

"Now that we're all here," Professor McGonagall sharply cut off her old friend before anything more embarrassing could be said. "Cedric, if you would take the lead as Champion of the hosting school, then Mr. Krum, Miss Delacour, and finally Harry bringing up the rear. Ready? Then let's be off," she said, not looking back as she opened the doors to lead the Champions out.

As Harry and Augusta waited their turn to exit, Harry fidgeted, muttering to himself. "I could just send in the bloody robes…I bet nobody would notice, stupid prats."

Augusta smiled at the young man beside her, then gave him a mock-glare. "You'll do no such thing!" she whispered, so that only Harry could hear her. "I don't care how good you are with substitutiary locomotion, somebody's bound to notice an empty dress robe flinging itself around the hall. And besides, you promised me a dance! Now, buck up, Potter; we're on!"

The command was so like her grandson that Harry couldn't help but feel better. Giving his escort a smile, he pulled himself to his full height and let a calm expression spread across his face.

"Better," Augusta gave a miniscule nod. "Now remember: they all want to be us tonight, so all we have to do is look like it's as much fun as they imagine. Keep smiling, don't fall down, and follow my lead. You're in good hands, Harry," she finished, giving his arm one final squeeze. Then, Gran Augusta vanished as the Dowager Lady Longbottom came to the fore.

Reassured, Harry Potter led his escort from the room with all the gravitas anyone could have asked from a Triwizard Champion and Scion of a Noble and Ancient Wizarding House.

Another flurry of bulbs exploding followed them all the way into the Hall.

* * *

><p>A short time later, after an excellent dinner and the obligatory first dance, Harry and Lady Longbottom were sitting, sipping cognac and butterbeer at their table when Neville Longbottom stalked up, his face stormy. His own date, Hannah Abbott, trailed anxiously after him.<p>

"Potter," Neville grated. "As the eldest male of the most Noble and Ancient House of Longbottom, I demand to know what your intentions are towards my Grandmother!"

"Neville, look, this wasn't my idea..." Harry tried to answer quickly, only to be rudely cut off.

"His intentions are to be dressed as a harem boy and chained to my bedpost for the next several weeks, at least," Augusta Longbottom said evenly. "He should only need to say about six words during that time, two of which will be 'Yes, Mistress', and the others something simple like 'more, again, please, and thank you'. You can visit him there over the hols if you like, Neville," she finished, her face pleasantly neutral.

Neville, Hannah and Harry all stared at the elderly lady with various looks of shock and disbelief written on their faces until she could no longer hold it in. Throwing back her head, she laughed long and loud, drawing attention to herself from all across the hall.

"Oh, Merlin, the looks on your faces! Priceless, simply priceless!" She laughed again, waving Hannah Abbott over to sit beside her and gesturing for her grandson to sit beside a furiously blushing Harry Potter.

"Come, sit, dear; you must be the young Miss Abbott Neville's written me so much about," August said gently. "Something you need to learn about men right now, girl, is that they are quite simple creatures. Terribly easy to prank, they are."

"So I see," Hannah Abbott said, smiling as she sat down. "So...no Harem Boy Harry tonight? Pity, that," she finished, stifling a grin.

"Sadly for him, no; no harem boy duty for young Harry tonight. We're going straight back to London after we leave here. More's the pity, really; the things I could have taught the boy..." Augusta finished conspiratorially, winking at the younger girl. "However, that's not to say that you and my grandson can't do your own version of 1001 Arabian Nights..."

"GRAN!" Neville exploded, his face the color of a telephone box.

"Oh, shush, boy! I've already checked this young lady out seven ways to Sunday; if I thought she'd actually do such a thing I wouldn't have invited her over!" Augusta said. Then, as Harry and Neville put their heads together, she turned and whispered to Hannah. "Contraception spells, dear; they should be available in each of the girls dorms; if not, owl me soonest. Keep them up until at least three months after the wedding, that avoids any hint of scandal. Oh, and if you hurt my grandson you will answer to me," she smiled, showing teeth.

"I don't intend to hurt him, but try to come between us and we'll dance, crone," Hannah smiled with just as much teeth. "I'm aware of the spells, but we won't be needing them for some time to come, you've raised a perfect gentleman."

Augusta's smile didn't change as she and Hannah locked eyes for several long seconds. Then, she nodded, carefully looking away then back. "You'll do, girl, you'll do. Welcome to the family, then," Augusta said.

"Not until after we both graduate Hogwarts, but thank you," Hannah said, giving her future grandmother-in-law's hand a squeeze.

"Have you told Neville yet?" Augusta asked, watching the two boys whispering frantically back and forth.

"Not yet...he's still getting used to the idea of us dating. I'm in no hurry." Hannah shrugged.

"Good girl. Owl me if you need anything, or if I seem to be getting in the way. It won't be intentional, I assure you," Augusta smiled as Hannah nodded back. "There, now that we've settled on everything but the date and colors for the wedding, how are things here? Is there anything you need? Anything I need to know about?"

Hannah considered carefully, then shook her head. "No, I'm fine, so is Neville. He's coming into his own in his house this year, and I know that he's the only one that Harry owls regularly. It's been...different...this year, what with the other students being here, and Harry being gone. It's almost like things are...more calm, I suppose...without Harry and Draco Malfoy going at one another, or some homicidal maniac trying to get into the school to kill Harry, or whatever. Dumbledore seems even more distracted than usual, if you can believe that." She gave a little wave of her hand. "I know, that's a poor explanation, but there it is."

"That's actually quite a good report," Augusta said, impressed despite herself. "I'll look forward to more like that from you in the future. I'm no longer an active member of the Board of Governors, but I do try to keep my ear to the ground, if you know what I mean," she said.

Hannah nodded. "So I've...heard," she answered, and the two women shared another look. "I'll try to owl you regularly, but I can't promise anything, you understand."

"Oh, I most certainly do, my dear...you've your studies, and the work of convincing my grandson that it'll actually be his idea to ask you to marry him!"

"Well, there is that," Hannah smiled, looking down and blushing. Then, she looked up as Augusta pressed a small glass of cognac into her hand.

"Let's drink to a successful pursuit, then," Lady Longbottom said, lifting her glass to the next Lady Longbottom.

"Cheers!" Hannah smiled, tossing hers back.

* * *

><p>"Harry! You brought my Gran to the Ball!"<p>

"Nev, this isn't my fault! Mary Poppins set the whole thing up!"

"Did she now?"

"Yes, she did...she went out one morning, and when she came back it was all arranged, including the coach and footmen. She said that it'd be a 'most appropriate' choice, given my age. It's also twisting Dumbledore's tail; he and your Gran have had several...disagreements over the years. Plus, it avoids me having to start the whole family-politics-marriage thing just yet. Not that I'm going to play that game anyway, but still..."

"Oliver couldn't come tonight?"

"Mary Poppins and Sirius wouldn't let me ask him."

"Oh? Well, what about Sirius and Remus, then?"

"They had to get their own dates. One works at the Ministry, the other is a clerk in a shop in Diagon Alley."

"That's not what I meant."

"Oh, they say they're fine with it, I guess. They just didn't think it was the right time to go public with it."

"Well, it will shock a lot of people when they find out that the Savior of the Wizarding World is also a poofter."

"Yeah."

"Personally, I find it revolting."

"Yeah."

"And disgusting."

"Yeah."

"And horrible."

"Yeah."

"Pity you're still just Harry, so I have to put up with you the way you are."

"Yeah...thanks, by the way. I didn't know how you'd react."

"How did you think I was going to react? Like Ron? Oh, please..."

"And how is dear old Ronnikins? Still being a prat?"

"Is water still wet?"

"Hmm. Hermione?"

"Sky still blue?"

"So...both still trying to spy and pry for the old coot?"

"Every day."

"You could tell them the harem boy story; they'll be shocked, and Dumbles will probably get his rocks off on it...which now that I think about it is just disturbing."

"Yes, yes, and you are soooooo right about that! I'll tell them first thing tomorrow."

"Good. Your Gran's a pip."

"I guess."

"No, really...okay, I mean, at first she's all, like, 'Grand Duchess Lady Longbottom', but once you get past that..."

"You get down to the 'Lady Longbottom, Dowager Grand Duchess' core."

"Nev..."

"I know...it's just...she's my Gran, you know?"

"Yeah."

"So...Hannah?"

"Yeah."

"Good?"

"Yeah."

"Any problems?"

"No, not really...except for those times when she looks at me like she's sizing me up for wedding robes."

*_snicker_***** "So, you're already caught, then?"

"I...don't know."

"You are so caught."

"Maybe."

"Well, congrats. If she breaks your heart, my shoulder is always there."

"You know, our families have been allies for, like, centuries. You could offer to have the wench killed, or something."

"Do I need to?"

"No. Thanks for the shoulder offer, but I'm good."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"So...dancing."

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

"So...Potter."

"Yeah?"

"Swap dates...one dance only?"

"Sounds good...only no feeling up my date, Longbottom."

"Heh. As if...Harem Boy."

"I've heard nappy stories, you know."

"I've no doubt about that. Tell anyone else and die."

"Absolutely. Allies for centuries and all that, keep each other's secrets until we die."

"Right you are."

And with that, the senior males of the Noble and Ancient Houses of Potter and Longbottom rose to their feet, straightened their robes, and asked each other's escorts for the privilege of a dance.

* * *

><p>"I must say, the Ball seems to be going rather well," Filius Flitwick commented to Minerva McGonagall from their seats at one end of the room. His Ravenclaws seemed to be mingling well enough, the dancing lessons he'd insisted on seemed to be paying off in spades. Of course, the Ravens had responded to the challenge of learning to dance the way they responded to every challenge: find the book, memorize the book, and then go through the exercises. Their more cerebral, restrained style was perfect for the formal waltzes and pavanes that were currently being played: later on, they might not do as well when the Weird Sisters came on stage. Then again, they might, he'd been surprised over the years at just how versatile some of his charges could be. He remembered some years back when he'd first learned the terms 'geek' and 'goth'. He'd thought initially that the first term was very nearly perfect for his House, and the second the same for Slytherin; he'd since learned differently. He'd been a bit surprised to see one of his Ravens wearing black eye makeup, but then reminded himself that if his grandmother and grandfather had been less open to ignoring common prejudices, he wouldn't be there at all.<p>

"Thus far, at least," McGonagall muttered back, her eyes never stopping their constant scan for trouble. Given the high profile of several of the guests attending the Ball, she'd asked Amelia Bones for a squad of Aurors to provide incognito security, in addition to those who were prominently stationed around the room, plain red robes easily seen among all of the formal wear. She'd picked up several of the undercover security easily enough—they were part of the human catering staff, or dressed as guests—and she suspected that she'd missed at least a couple. Well, that was all fine; if she couldn't spot them she doubted anyone else could.

Albus had, not unexpectedly, objected to her arrangements when he'd been informed. She'd ignored his protests and gone on with her plans. After all, he'd dumped the thing on her; he could bloody well shut up and let her do her job.

"I must say, I didn't expect Mr. Potter to be escorting Madam Longbottom," Filius was saying. Of course, Minerva wasn't taken in by his light tone for a second.

"I don't know whether to blame her, or Mary," McGonagall answered, just as lightly. "Somehow, I rather doubt that she was his first choice."

"Oh, I suspect that you're correct in that assessment," the diminutive professor replied. "Still, it's something of a master stroke of subtlety. It provided him with the required escort, even though he's still underage. She's obviously not a marriageable candidate for him, so it's an apolitical choice. Their two families have been allied for as long as anyone cares to remember, so it's a way of letting everyone know that he intends to continue that arrangement. And, let's not forget, everyone knows that Augusta Longbottom is one of the more active 'behind the scenes' players in our society; she's making it known just whose side she's on. Oh, and it's given her a chance to be here tonight despite Albus' best efforts to keep her away."

Minerva nodded, Filius was absolutely correct. Albus had decreed that the Ball was 'for the children'; parents had specifically been excluded from the guest list 'to let the children have a bit of closely chaperoned-fun without having to worry about their parents ruining the evening for them'. It had prevented any of the more socially inept youths from simply inviting their parents, forcing them to spread their social wings a bit. In that, she supposed it was a good thing. Merlin knew, it had kept Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy and their lot away, which was one less headache she had to deal with. Also, it had been so in keeping with Albus' long-standing 'keep the parents well away' philosophy' that no one had bothered to question it.

That Augusta Longbottom had managed to wrangle herself a seat was going to be considered a major coup for her, at Albus Dumbledore's expense.

Of course, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin had done the same thing, but as 'Professors'-and didn't that term jangle her nerves when applied to 'Sirius Black'-there wasn't anything that anyone could do about it.

Right then, the Lady Longbottom was being twirled about the floor by her grandson, looking as if she were Queen of the May. Just behind them, Harry Potter and Susan Abbott followed along, smiling and laughing together, occasionally looking at the couple leading them before laughing once more. Indeed, it seemed to be the case that the Ball was going well, without any major incidents.

Minerva sighed. She'd just cursed herself, she knew.

* * *

><p>"Madam Longbottom? May I ask you something?" Some time later, Harry and Augusta were back at their table, taking a breather. Actually, Augusta had pulled herself from the dance lineup some time previously, but she'd handed Harry off to one of the Patil twins (she honestly couldn't remember which one) with instructions not to come back until he'd danced with at least four other girls. Now he was back, knocking back a butterbeer while a fine sheen of sweat cooled on his forehead.<p>

"Certainly, Harry...and please, call me Augusta."

Harry nodded, then took another swallow of his drink. "I...I want to dance with someone, but I'm not sure that I should. Sirius didn't think it'd be a good idea, when I talked with him several days ago, but still..."

Augusta smiled at the young man sitting across from her. He looked terribly nervous just then, rather than the calm young wizarding Lord he'd been portraying all evening. "Afraid to ask her, are you?"

Harry looked down, then looked back up, his eyes determined. "No. Afraid to ask _him_."

Augusta froze for a second, then narrowed her eyes as her mind raced. "I...see," she said, then sipped her drink to buy herself another precious few seconds to compose her answer. "You're concerned about the repercussions of asking this young man to dance with you, here and now."

Harry nodded. "I know that lots of people don't approve...you probably don't, being old and stuff, like you are, I mean it's not very well accepted by the older generations, but it's not like I'm the first one to ever come along and there are more of us than you think and we're just like regular people, and..."

"Harry, you're babbling, which is never attractive, please stop. Now, that's better. Yes, I may be old, but I'm not dead. You should have figured that out by now," Augusta said, gently now that she'd stopped his rambling. "I've known more than a few 'like that' in my time, I know a few of them now. You're just one more to add to the list. At least you're willing to be open and honest about yourself, many can't or won't do that, for whatever reason." She paused and sipped again, then spoke carefully. "I think that we'd better consider the political implications of such a bold move carefully. Oh, you can dance with whomever you like, in your own home," she grinned, "but this would be something that you could never, ever take back. You understand that, don't you?"

Harry nodded seriously. Good, Augusta thought, the boy seems to be able to think things through before he acts; he's more Slytherin than Gryffindor in that respect, thank Merlin.

"Then, there's the effect it will have on the person you ask. He'll immediately be cast as an invert, and dragged into the spotlight along with you. That may or may not be a good thing for him. Certainly you have enemies, just because of who and what you are; he would acquire many of them merely by the association of one simple dance. Then there's the matter of how his parents will react, not to mention the public reaction. There are those who will automatically condemn him as the one who 'corrupted' you, regardless of whether you initiated the contact or not. That kind of thing will follow him for the rest of his life, and probably beyond. Are you willing to place that burden on someone, just because you'd like to have a dance at a Ball when you're fourteen?"

"No. You and Sirius are right, of course," Harry said, miserably. "It was foolish of me to even think about it," he said, looking at his lap.

"Not at all," Augusta said sharply. "It was _normal_ for you to think about it. It would have been foolish of you to act impulsively, without consulting those of us who care about you first. Like it or not, you are the Boy Who Lived," she went on, reaching out to grab Harry's hand when he sighed. "Buck up, Potter!" her voice cracked like a whip. When Harry's eyes shot to hers, flashing, she smiled. "There, that's better. You didn't choose this destiny, just like you didn't choose to like boys. Doesn't matter, it is what it is. So, the question becomes one of just how to get what you want, with the minimum of fuss and bother to all concerned. Do you follow?"

"Yes...I think so," Harry said, a bit confused. "I get that I'm the BWL, and all that, okay; I'm trying to deal with it. But...I don't see how I can ask a boy to dance without everything going pear-shaped."

"You may not be able to, tonight. I know it might not seem like it, but this is not the last Ball you'll attend; I'll see to that!" Augusta grinned. "Yes, that was a threat...and a promise. Now, let me think," she said, chewing her lip thoughtfully. After a minute's thought, she spoke again. "The best course of action would be to say and do nothing to indicate your preference until some years from now, when you're better established in society. Say, after your second or third term as Minister," she said, just to see the horror grow on Harry's face. "Or maybe not quite that long," she smiled, gathering herself a glower that let her know that Harry had figured out that he'd been played. "But you get the general idea. Now, can you let it go tonight, or will you absolutely explode if you don't get to dance with this particular boy on this particular night of all nights?" she asked, watching him carefully as he considered his answer.

"I'd really like to dance with him, tonight, at the Ball," Harry said carefully, then paused. "But, I've not spoken to him at all about it. I don't even know if he might feel the same way as me, much less how his parents and house-mates might react. Of course, the _Prophet'll_ have a fit, regardless. I doubt he'd thank me for that."

"It sounds to me like you haven't laid the proper groundwork for such a bold move," Lady Longbottom said gently. "Quite honestly, I can't recommend that you do it; not just yet, anyway. I'm certainly not telling you 'no', not by any means...but without having matters set up in advance..." she trailed off, shaking her head. "Risky, very risky; and for very little benefit other than the immediate pleasure of the thing." She made a sour-faced moue of distaste. "I don't like doing things like that. They seldom end well."

"No, they don't," Harry said, looking miserable.

"I think," Augusta began, then sipped her cognac before beginning again. "I think, next time, you need to come to me at least a week or two beforetime, so that we can make some contingency plans."

"You'd help me?" Harry looked up, astonished.

"Of course! We're allies, and all that, aren't we?" Augusta snorted. "Besides, old crones like me thrive on stuff like this; it's the closest we get at our age to actually getting any action," she laughed as Harry once again blushed furiously, this time while grinning. His grin changed to a look of astonishment when Augusta went on. "Besides, I don't see that nice Oliver Wood here, and I thought that you two were an item? Just whom were you planning to invite to a three-way? And, what would I have to do to get pictures?"

Harry sputtered, then busied himself with his butterbeer for some time thereafter.

* * *

><p>The remainder of the Ball went off without any remarkable incidents; Ron Weasley getting a plate of hors d'oeuvres dumped on his head by one of the Patil twins (Minerva couldn't tell which one, not that it mattered, the boy was a complete prat) being the most serious event that occurred all evening long. She did notice that Harry Potter danced with several different girls, never more than one dance apiece; he also spent quite a bit of time off to one side, talking with Cedric Diggory and Viktor Krum. Draco Malfoy and his pair of bookends did visit the group of Champions once, but were sneered off in short order, so no need for her to 'officially' notice that anything had transpired.<p>

The Weird Sisters had performed, and Minerva did see both Mary Poppins and Augusta Longbottom on the dance floor for one of their less energetic numbers; she'd sniffed and tried to look appropriately disapproving while ignoring the small part of her that wanted to go and show them just how it ought to be done.

Finally, the last number had been played, the last dance danced, and the last bit of pâté scrapped from Ron Weasley's head...and it was time to go.

Albus and the other two Heads were gathered at the Hogwarts entrance as Mary Poppins and her party made to leave.

"You know, you're welcome to stay the night in the castle," Albus said, his best smile-and-twinkle in place.

"Thank you, but no; as we said, we'll be going back to London this evening," Mary Poppins replied, nodding to Madam Maxime and Headmaster Karkaroff. "We had a most enjoyable evening, Albus," she said, then stepped past the Hogwarts Headmaster before he could detain her any further.

"Yes, a most enjoyable evening," Augusta said, preening on Harry's arm. "My compliments to your Deputy, Albus; Minerva did a smashing job with the arrangements."

"I'll be sure to pass that along," Dumbledore said, his eyes narrowing slightly at the personal dig.

"You do that," Augusta said, smiling.

"It was brilliant!" Harry said, before being swept away by Augusta while Dumbledore seethed. He'd tried all evening to corner Harry for a brief bit of brain-raiding, to no avail. As his final chance of the night vanished, he only gave a cursory nod to Sirius, Remus and their dates as they swept past and into the Black carriage. Albus recognized it now; the old Black family relic probably hadn't been out of the stable for decades, but tonight it looked factory-new. As always, layers of protective charms prevented anyone from seeing or hearing anything that went on inside or near the carriage, and there seemed to be something a bit...off...about the attendants, but they were away and gone before he could quite manage to suss out just what it might have been. Giving a mental shrug, he turned to enter the castle. His only duty before he turned in for the night would be to pen a quick note to the editor of the _Prophet_, making sure that he, and not his Deputy, received full credit for the excellent evening that had just occurred.

* * *

><p>Yule came and went, and the most notable thing that occurred was Augusta's gift of 'Arabian pajamas' to both Harry and Neville, and a catalogue of 'special items' to Hannah Abbott and Oliver Wood.<p>

In January, Harry and Oliver were spotted together in Quality Quidditch Supplies, and a photograph of them leaning close together to examine the new Comet 300 made the _Prophet's_ Sports Section above the fold. The accompanying article speculated about endorsement deals with the Comet company for both young men, but this proved to be a baseless rumor. It was noteworthy only for the fact that Puddlemere was a Nimbus team, and there was a minor flap about the possibility of them changing over that was hotly debated across the country for almost two entire weeks.

Yes, January was a very slow news month indeed.

Neville received letters from Harry telling him that his Gran was teaching Harry wizarding history and etiquette, as well as politics. He'd figured out the clue in the golden egg, and was learning to swim; more than that, he refused to say. He was working hard, and planning on taking his OWLS shortly before the third Task. Other than that, his letters back and forth were filled with the kind of gossip that teens thrive on, but that the rest of us would find utterly trite, silly, and boring.

Hence, Dumbledore's continued efforts to capture Harry's letters, all of which came to naught, were essentially wasted time and effort. And, in good time, the date of the second Task arrived.

**A/N:** Wow! Apparently this story has caught people's attention; the responses have been overwhelming. Sadly, the 'reply link' function has been on the fritz, which is why I haven't answered all of your reviews. Rest assured, they are all read, and cherished…and then fed to other plot bunnies!

Why Maleficent, you ask? Well, why not? Who better to teach Harry how to deal with a dragon, than a witch who can become one at will? All right, so she once styled herself the 'Queen of all Evil', but that was simply _ages_ ago! Youthful indiscretions, we've all had them…well, by the time you get to be _my_ age, you have; _**no**_, I'm not going to give away any of my own secrets here, the rating system won't tolerate it, don't ask!

You'll notice some familiar figures, and ideas from some of my other fics—yes, I do recycle, and some ideas (Harem Boy!Harry) are just too good not to reuse. Also, I tend to write the characters as I perceive them, so there are a number of similarities between how they're portrayed hither and yon. Specifically, I despise Dumbles, and have little use for Hermione and Ron; I like Neville and Augusta and feel a bit sorry for Minerva. So, don't be shocked at what I've got in store for one of the Tarnished Trio in the next chapter….

Oh, and if Augusta Longbottom seems a bit 'loose' by the end of the ball, well…cognac will do that to you. Besides, the Ball is the most fun the old girl's had in over a decade, let her be!

**Next Chapter: **The Second Task! Now…just who will Mary Poppins have found to teach young Harry how to swim? And for the Third Task…well, of course he'll need someone to hone his dueling skills, just in case; there's no telling just what he might have to face in the Third Task, now is there? There might even be a Shout Out! Prize for the first person to correctly guess just who Harry's new instructors for both Tasks will be….


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Task 2, then Task 3. Well, part of Task 3, at any rate.

**Disclaimer:** as before.

**Chapter 3**

Neville shivered on the platform above the lake despite his heavy coat and scarf. Below him, he could see the Champions standing on the edge of the platform, wrapped in heavy full-length cloaks. Presumably they were wearing swimming togs underneath. It had been rumored that swimming would be involved somehow in the task. Now, it looked like those rumors had, strangely enough, been true.

Down below, Harry stood alongside Cedric, Viktor and Fleur. They were only waiting for the Powers That Be to arrive and get themselves sorted to begin. Cedric and Viktor were discussing Quidditch, while Harry was chatting gaily with Fleur in French.

"I am surprised that Mama and Papa are not here yet," Fleur was saying. "They wrote that you had been spending time with them, learning our language while your godfather was discussing business with Papa."

"Oui, it was a chance for me to practice with native-speakers, as well as to spend some time at your lovely villa. Your sister is quite the young lady, you know," Harry grinned.

"She is an evil little monster, but Mama says that I was easily as bad as Gabrielle at that age. It is of course a great lie," Fleur sniffed, then smiled when Harry laughed out loud.

"Oh, of course I would not be so crass as to disagree," he said. "Still, Gabrielle helped make my time in France interesting, if nothing else."

"You must tell me all about it, when we are done with this horrid task. What I would like to know is just who thought the idea of swimming in Scotland in the early spring would be a good idea?"

"Incompetence of that magnitude usually requires a bureaucrat," Harry said solemnly. "Didn't your father tell you that the tasks were selected by a committee of government representatives?"

"Oui, Harry, I see that he had the same discussion with you," Fleur smiled. "He thinks most highly of you, as does Mama. Gabrielle, of course, has decided that she will marry you just as soon as she graduates from Beauxbatons."

"WHAT!" Harry coughed, which made Fleur laugh. "She's decided that already? I swear, Fleur, I've done nothing at all to give her that idea..."

"Calm yourself, Harry; of course you haven't. She is young, and this is to be expected from her. That you happened to be in our home for several weeks, and are quite handsome, it was inevitable. Do not worry, Harry; this time last year she was fixated upon our gardener. She was convinced he was actually a prince, hiding on our estates until he could regain his throne."

"Well, it's good to see how I rate," Harry huffed, more than a bit relieved that he wasn't in trouble with Fleur or her family.

"Oh, Harry, you really don't see how special you are, do you?" Fleur asked gently. "Mama and Papa have had nothing but good things to say about you, which is a rare thing indeed for them. Even what little time I've spent with you has shown me that you are far too modest, almost to the point of being ridiculous. That you would spend so much time with my beast of a sister, when you had many other things which you could be doing, tells me volumes about your character. No, Harry, I will have my say," Fleur insisted, preventing Harry from cutting her off. "I am greatly looking forward to spending time with you myself this summer. Papa has assured me that you will be spending at least three weeks with us."

"I...hadn't heard that," Harry said, stunned.

"Oh, you will," Fleur smiled. "Papa will find some reason or another for M. Black to come to France, and you will, of course, be invited."

Harry couldn't help but smile at Fleur's certainty. "I suppose that I should just shut up and do what I'm told," he said.

"That would be for the best," Fleur replied. "Otherwise, the little beast might take it upon herself to invade England to come and fetch you, and that would be unfortunate."

"Hmm...Gabrielle Delacour versus the Ministry...can I put a dozen galleons on Gabby now?"

"Non. It would be, how do you say, a 'sucker bet'." Fleur laughed, and Harry joined her at the mental image of Gabby facing down ranks of massed Aurors with nothing more than her dolly and a stern look.

They were interrupted by Ludo Bagman's voice as he began announcing the second task. Everyone else seemed to be paying some degree of attention to him, but the Champions themselves were too concerned with getting on with it to pay him much mind.

In the judges' box, Mary Poppins stood with Dumbledore, Maxime, Karkaroff, Barty Crouch, Bagman, and an assortment of other dignitaries, including the French, German and Russian ambassadors.

"Well, Mary Poppins, I see that Madam Maleficent chose not to accompany you this time," Dumbledore said easily.

"No, she had other business, unfortunately. I did ask one of Harry's other instructors to put in an appearance, but I haven't seen her yet. Hopefully, she'll arrive before the end of the task. She was, actually, instrumental in helping Harry prepare for this particular challenge."

"More cheating from your student, eh?" Karkaroff rumbled. "How much more of this must we endure?"

"Given the nature of the clue, I hardly think that teaching a boy to swim constitutes cheating," Mary Poppins replied coolly. "Especially considering that Harry hadn't ever seen a beach or an ocean until he came under my care," she finished, giving Dumbledore a hard stare.

"And such a shame that was," a new voice boomed, like waves crashing on the shore. Heads whipped around to see a new figure settling down into the corner of the box. How she had gotten up there was something of a mystery, as she was a very large...woman, with tentacles rather than legs.

"Ursula!" Mary Poppins said, delighted. "You made it! I was beginning to wonder," she finished.

The huge womanish creature laughed her great booming laugh. "What? Miss seeing my little Harry again? Oh, no, Triton himself couldn't keep me away from this, never you fear! I wouldn't have missed this for all the clams in the sea!"

"The Sea Witch!" Barty Crouch hissed, drawing back from her. "How...how did that..._thing_ get up here? Dumbledore, do something!"

"Of course, Bartholomew, of course. Madam Ursula, welcome to the Triwizard Tournament." Dumbledore bowed graciously, completely ignoring Crouch's intent.

"Albus Dumbledore, you old lamprey you, how are you? It's been far too long," Ursula glided forward, her hand out to be kissed. "And Olympe, how have you been? Since you stopped coming with your students on their beach outings, I never see you. Igor, no wonder you haven't been around lately; I see that your ship made it here without any difficulty."

Dumbledore took the proffered hand and bussed it lightly. "I take it that you are the Professor that Mary Poppins found to teach Harry Potter to swim," he said casually.

"Indeed I am," the Sea Witch said. "I must say, your golden egg clue was quite ingenious. Fortunately, Harry was able to decipher it completely, so I was called in as an 'aquatic expert', so to speak. Lovely boy, by the way, sharp as an anemone's quill and bright as a coral reef. I'd love to have him spend a few months with me between terms. Oh! The things I could show him!" Ursula sighed, and then gave Olympe Maxime a wink that was clearly meant to be 'just between us girls'. Despite herself, Olympe found a tiny bit of agreement somewhere deep inside herself. Harry had indeed cut a fine figure at the Ball, after all….

"How to lure sailors to their doom?" Crouch spat, then recoiled as Ursula rounded on him.

"I see that those old lies still persist," she hissed. "Never mind that weather, or poorly maintained ships, or pure incompetence has caused more sailors to be lost than I could ever have pulled down, not to mention those poor souls that fall afoul of Neptune's temper? Oh, no, blame the Sea Witch; she's the most evil creature of the seven seas!" Ursula huffed, then spun away from the Ministry official, her face instantly going from angry to smiling. "Now, I came to see a competition...when does it begin, darlings?" she asked, looking around the box and beaming expectantly.

"Immediately, I should think. Ludo, if you would?" Dumbledore nodded to the official.

"Oh...why, certainly, Albus," Bagman said, then cast _Sonorus_ on himself and began to announce the second task.

"Finally," Fleur breathed, and then turned to Harry. "Good luck, Harry."

"To you too, Fleur," Harry returned, shucking off his long cloak.

Several scattered gasps went up from the crowd at Harry's attire. While the other Champions were wearing conservative swimming garb, Harry was only wearing a tiny muggle suit hardly bigger than a handkerchief. A piercing wolf whistle cut through the air, making Harry blush, while letting him know that his 'swimming instructor' had arrived. Well good, he grinned to himself, let's hope that she enjoys the show.

The audience (and the other Champions) only had a moment to take in Harry's well-muscled form before the gun sounded, sending all of the Champions charging for the water. Three of them either dove or jumped in, but Harry took three great steps, then leaped high into the air. At the peak of his leap, he snapped his legs together, and then _whip-snap-POP!_ his legs transformed into a full-length, scaled tail! Harry hit the water cleanly, disappearing completely as a roar went up from the crowd. A moment later, Harry breached, throwing himself fully out of the water and twisting to show off his glorious new appendage before diving once more.

After that, there was essentially nothing for the crowd to watch except the ripples on the lake, so they busied themselves talking about what they had just seen.

"A bloody merman! He's become a merman!" Neville crowed, pounding his fist on the box railing again. "Hah! Let's see them out swim him now!"

"Trans-species auto-transfiguration was specifically banned by the Ministry, except in case of emergency, in the early 1800's," one of the Ravenclaws declared. "He'll be fined, at the very least."

"Oh, don't be a Granger," one of the Hufflepuffs retorted, to general snickers all 'round. Over the last few months, 'being a Granger' had become the new catchphrase for sharing too much information regardless of who cared, or was even listening. It implied being annoying, grating, and generally obnoxious to the point of complete social ostracism. Not surprisingly, the eponymous Gryffindor hadn't noticed that people stopped listening to her shortly after Harry left Hogwarts; she'd never seemed to notice. Not even Ron Weasley paid her any heed anymore, caught up as he was in trying to chase any of the more available females at Hogwarts. The fact that he'd so far had absolutely no success still hadn't seemed to sink in; he was convinced that each new attempt would bring him the success he so dearly craved.

Oddly, neither Ron nor Hermione were in the stands with the rest of their classmates. For some reason, none of their classmates noticed their absence.

Harry's transformation was the only real topic of interest for the next several minutes. There was some brief speculation as to how the other champions might deal with the task—the Bubble Head charm being the favored choice—but the conversations kept coming back to Harry Potter.

In the other viewing stands, Sirius and Remus sat there, unconcerned. They knew how Harry had been trained, and weren't the least bit concerned about his ability to complete the task, whatever it might be. Hours of discussion around the table at Grimmauld Place hadn't yielded anything more than a general consensus that something valuable would be held by the merpeople at the bottom of the lake; the trial would be to retrieve it, probably without doing excess harm to the merpeople, or the lake itself. Some of the things Ursula had taught Harry, while very useful should Voldemort should ever attack him near a body of water, might be considered a bit...excessive during the Tournament. So, discussion of tactics tended to immediately rule out maelstroms, rip tides, and kraken summoning. Enlisting the help of the giant squid was considered to be a last-ditch ploy, and Harry had already decided to use it only if everything else failed.

"But you won't need that," Ursula had said, confidently. "You'll be able to swim as well as they do, and you've mastered the language well enough, my boy. You'll have your wand, and you're one of the best students I've ever had. Remember, negotiate first, but if that fails, cut your way to victory without mercy!"

"Ahem." Mary Poppins said, appearing suddenly.

"Er, yes, well...as I said, negotiate first," Ursula had corrected herself, then turned away from Mary Poppins to give Harry a wink.

"So, how long do you think it'll take Harry to finish?" Remus asked.

Sirius shrugged. "Who knows? Half an hour? More? I'm not sure exactly where in the lake the merish city is, and I don't think Harry knows, either. I should think that finding it would be the hardest part of the task."

"Most likely," Remus agreed. "Here, I've got the _Telegraph,_ the _Guardian_ and the _Prophet_; which would you like."

"You and your muggle papers," Sirius laughed. "I'll take the _Prophet_."

Sirius and Remus were the only ones to come prepared for the dullness that was the second Task. All there was to do was sit there, be cold, and stare out across the surface of the lake. It seemed that the giant squid had decided to play elsewhere, as there were no signs of it splashing on the surface that anyone could see. In their efforts to fill the monotony, the VIPs in the viewing box were discussing the same things as the students—mostly what Harry Potter had done and just what the Ministry would do about it. Of course, this was complicated by Ursula's presence. The Sea Witch amused herself by flirting shamelessly with everyone in the box, Madam Maxime included. For Sirius and Remus, the hardest part of the wait was restraining themselves—Mary Poppins' orders had been quite explicit—from saying anything about Harry's training or his plan of action. So, like most of the students and guests, they watched the show that Ursula was putting on in the VIP box, hiding behind their papers when the urge to laugh out loud became overwhelming.

After almost half an hour, Fleur Delacour surfaced, blood running from multiple scratches and cuts on her arms and legs. A stir went up from the crowd when she was helped from the water and immediately sent to the aid tent on shore, where Madam Pomphrey was waiting to tend the Champions. Fleur was sobbing hysterically as she was led away, but no one in the stands could understand her. Shortly thereafter, Harry emerged, cradling a sleeping Gabrielle Delacour in his arms. He swam quickly to the platform and handed Gabrielle to the waiting personnel, then thrashed about in the water a bit, obviously restoring his legs. He hopped up onto the platform, only to be met by an agitated Dumbledore, Ludo Bagman, and several other officials.

"Mr. Potter, what have you done?" Dumbledore demanded.

"I rescued Gabrielle. Wasn't that what I was supposed to do?" Harry asked, genuinely confused. Just then, a shark-headed figure emerged from the water with Hermione Granger in tow; when he undid his partial transformation, Viktor Krum splashed his way to the platform, where willing hands took Hermione, choking and screaming, from him before helping him up.

"No, Gabrielle Delacour was to be rescued by her sister, Fleur. Your 'treasure' to recover was Mr. Weasley!" Dumbledore insisted, once Viktor and Hermione had been whisked away.

"Oh." Harry shrugged. "Well, I guess you're a bit behind the times, then, Headmaster. Ron and I haven't been on good terms since just before I left Hogwarts; and Gabrielle has already announced to her parents that we'll be getting married right after her graduation. Somebody needs to go get him, I guess," he finished, pulling his cloak more tightly around him. "Can I go get dressed now?"

"But...you retrieved the wrong person! You've totally ruined the task!" Bartholomew Crouch thundered.

Harry shrugged again, now beginning to shiver in the cold. "They didn't exactly have labels, you know. How was I to know you wanted me to drag Ron back to the surface?"

"Gabrielle!" Fleur screamed, seeing her sister's still-sleeping body being brought into the medical tent. Her cries of joy rang out across the lake, then turned to screams of anger when she began venting her aggravation on Dumbledore, Bagman, Crouch, and any and all of the officials that she ran across.

In the medical tent, Harry finally had a chance to tell his story. He'd transformed, as everyone had seen, and then set out in search of the merpeople's city. Reasoning that it was in the deepest part of the lake, he'd struck out towards the center, staying far enough off the bottom to avoid threats like grindlylows. He'd only been swimming for a few minutes when he found the village, where the merpeople were guarding four sleeping figures. He'd been a bit put off at first, wondering just what the connection was between these four and the champions, until he remembered that Krum had taken Hermione to the Yule Ball, Cedric had taken Cho Chang and Neville had said that Ron claimed to be romancing Fleur. Obviously, that left Gabrielle for him. Freeing her had been only a matter of 'explaining' things to the guarding merpeople, then severing the chains that bound her to the lake bottom. He'd made good time back, he claimed, because he knew exactly where he needed to go. No, he hadn't had to kill any of the merpeople...he didn't think. No, he hadn't seen any of the other contestants. No, he hadn't really been bothered about leaving the three remaining people behind; he'd assumed that the officials had taken the appropriate precautions to protect them.

Sadly, by the time the Ministry was satisfied with his story, the spell keeping Ron in stasis had almost worn off; an urgent plea by Dumbledore to the merpeople to retrieve him took some time to be understood before it was acted upon. Ursula's offer to fetch the boy back immediately was refused by Dumbledore and the Ministry, who refused to believe that the Sea Witch would perform the service purely to be helpful (despite Mary Poppins' repeated assurances). By the time Ron was brought up, almost two hours had elapsed. Despite Madam Pomphrey's best efforts, the youngest Weasley boy suffered fairly significant brain damage, and he was transferred to St. Mungo's for further treatment.

The drama for the day didn't end with Ron's transfer by emergency portkey. Hermione Granger finally calmed down enough to begin cursing Dumbledore for all she was worth. She'd only been told by the Headmaster that she would play a vital role in the Tournament before she'd been stunned and bespelled. She insisted that she had never given any kind of consent, and she would have refused to participate, as she had a terrible fear of drowning due to an unfortunate swimming accident as a child. She demanded that her parents be contacted immediately. Upon their arrival the next day, they withdrew Hermione from Hogwarts and filed suit against Dumbledore, the Hogwarts Board of Governors, and as many people in the Ministry as they could possibly name.

Monsieur Delacour was none too happy that his youngest daughter had also been used in the Tournament without parental consent. Gabrielle had gladly accepted the invitation to Hogwarts, to see her sister as well as her beloved Harry; she'd been stunned without so much as a 'by your leave' before being placed on the lake bottom. She announced that of course 'her' Harry had saved her, he was 'her' prince, and she would have no other. Any penalty against Harry was hurriedly waved when M. Delacour threatened to go straight to the French Minister to protest the endangerment of a French citizen, should any action whatsoever be taken against the so-brave Mr. Potter. As the French Minister would no doubt look askance at any action taken against the man who had rescued his _niece_ (a tiny detail which had somehow escaped everyone's attention) from the depredations of the fool English, it was decided that Harry had acted properly in the face of inadequate information given by the preparers of the task.

Sadly, by the next summer, Gabrielle had a new crush, and had to tell Harry that she couldn't marry him; she was going to marry the seeker for the Seville Sorcerers Quidditch team. Still, she promised him that she would always have a special place in her heart for 'her Harry'. Harry, for his part, manfully agreed that Gabrielle must be free to follow her heart, and that he, too, would always be her friend. They both agreed that it would ultimately be for the best for them not to marry, and swore eternal friendship with each other.

In all of the other madness, Cedric's rescue of Cho Chang—accomplished competently and without any complications—went virtually unnoticed. Cho was quite chuffed to not be the center of attention in the med tent, but Cedric was inexplicably warmed by the 'thumbs up' that Harry gave him when no one else was looking.

* * *

><p><em>Dear Neville,<em>

_ I'm sure that you've been following the __Prophe__t these last few days; hopefully Ron won't be too badly hurt by all that time when he couldn't breathe underwater. Honestly, you'd have thought that the Ministry would put signs on the 'treasures', or something. I'm just glad that they didn't take you._

_ I'm busy studying for my OWLS, which I'm supposed to take next month. Also, Mary Poppins says that she's found the perfect person to teach me dueling techniques. We all think that the third task will be some sort of obstacle course, and I'll probably have to duel all kinds of creatures (and maybe some of the Professors) to get through it. Won't it be weird if I have to duel Snape or Moody? I just hope it's not Flitwick; he'll kick all of our arses for sure!_

_ Anyway, I'm studying fifth year stuff right now; it's not too hard, just a lot of it. I wish I had you here to help me with the Herbology section. This summer, after we get back from France, we may go to South America. If we do, I'll try to send you back some cool plants. Anything in particular that I should look for? Make me a list._

_ I'll see you at the next Task._

_ Harry_

* * *

><p>As they had done for the first two tasks, Mary Poppins, her student and his two regular 'Professors'-Sirius and Remus—had come up the night before, and stayed in the Hogwarts guest quarters. Unlike the previous times, however, Deputy Headmistress McGonagall had asked Mary Poppins about any additional 'staff' that might be accompanying them.<p>

"Actually, yes; Harry's dueling instructor will be arriving tomorrow, just before the task. Sadly, she couldn't come up this evening. So, thank you for asking, Minerva, but she won't be needing any quarters."

"Dare I ask just who 'she' is?" McGonagall reluctantly asked.

"You may ask," Mary Poppins said, smiling.

McGonagall gave a long-suffering sigh. "That's what I was afraid of," she said.

"Minerva, don't worry. You have my word that there will be no danger to any of your students from anyone I've recruited to aid in Harry's training. Do you honestly think that I would put children in any danger? Really now, you know me better than that!"

"You're right, I do," McGonagall shook her head. "And I've seen just how Harry's grown, both physically and magically, these last few months." She'd been quite surprised to see that Harry was now taller than she was, quite a bit taller than his father had been. "I've been concerned, as have many others, about just what he might be learning from your 'faculty', but he seems to be happier than I've ever seen him."

"I think that's a fair statement," Mary Poppins said. "Tell me, Minerva; just what do you know about Harry's muggle relatives?"

"I know that they're the worst sort of muggles. I argued with Albus against leaving him with them in the first place, but of course he always knows best," she spat.

"Indeed. And everything he does is always for the 'greater good', isn't it?" Mary Poppins didn't bother waiting for an answer before pressing on. "Why is it that Albus' concept of the 'greater good' has always seemed to put 'what's good for Albus Dumbledore' ahead of everyone else? For Harry in particular, this meant that he spent his childhood living in a cupboard underneath the stairs, starved, beaten and abused by his so-called 'family'. You must have seen the signs, Minerva, you and the rest of his Professors—just what have you been thinking? Any other child would have been removed from such a home and placed with the Ministry's Child Protection services, treated aggressively to correct his malnutrition and counseled extensively to address the effects of his abuse. He only had two real 'friends' before coming to me; friends who, I might add, turned on him at the first opportunity. I'm ashamed to say, I truly thought better of you, Filius, Pomona and Poppy, if none of the others. What I can't fathom is why you've allowed Albus to keep that boy in perpetual torment over the summers, not to mention the little 'tests' that he's arranged for Harry every year here at Hogwarts. Are you people Confunded, or just so subservient to the 'Great Albus Dumbledore' that you've forgotten that your first obligation must be to the children?"

Without waiting for an answer, Mary Poppins stalked away, leaving the Deputy Headmistress shocked, and with much to think about.

* * *

><p>"...and I would remind all four Champions that, in accordance with the amended rules of this Tournament, no self-transfiguration or animagus forms may be used to overcome the obstacles in the maze you will presently enter," Ludo Bagman was saying. He was having one last meeting in private with the Champions before they would walk together to the staging area for the task.<p>

"Well, sod that! Where's the fun, then? Oh, hello, am I at the right place? I'm here with the Poppins Institute; Mims the name, Madam Mim. I'm Harry Potter's dueling instructor." A raspy voice came from the opening to the small tent, from a raggedy crone with a shock of white hair.

"Muh...muh...MIM?" Bagman squeaked. "Muh..._Mad_ Madam Mim?" he managed to get out.

"Humph. I rather resent the 'Mad' part. I'd much prefer to think of myself as just misunderstood, possibly a bit eccentric," Mim grinned. "Hullo, ducks; 'suppose I'm on time after all, sorry about not being here sooner. Got tied up in Edinburgh, had to sort out a few ruffians who tried to take advantage of a defenseless old lady." Brushing back her hair, Mim sniffed, letting everyone know what she thought about _that_.

"Hullo, Mim," Harry grinned, enjoying the shock on the faces of the other Champions. "'bout time you dragged your saggy old carcass up here."

"Watch yourself, Potter," Madam Mim growled. "I can still wipe the floor with your scrawny arse without raising a sweat."

"Maybe later, after the task," Harry grinned again. "I think you'd better head for the stands. Sirius and Remus were supposed to be saving you a seat. Try not to scare too many people along the way, would you?"

"Harrumph. Won't let a girl have any fun, will you? Well, you're right, must be going; see you after the task, ducks," Mim waved, then ducked out, jerking the tent flap shut behind her.

It was Fleur who broke the silence that she left in her wake. "'arry...that was _the_ Madam Mim, wasn't it?"

"Und who is the strange witch?" Viktor Krum demanded. "I haf never heard of her."

"She...she supposedly dueled Merlin to a standstill," Cedric said, staring at Harry as though he'd never seen him before. "She appears every few hundred years, causes pure chaos and mayhem, and then disappears again. Harry...she's been training you in dueling?"

Harry had the good grace to blush. "Yeah, among other things. A few hexes and spells, ordinary stuff, only most of it's fallen out of practice these last few centuries. Surprising how much we've lost, really; I need to have a talk with someone from the Ministry when this Tournament thingy is over with," he finished lamely.

"'arry, how are we supposed to compete with you now? You've been taught things that none of us can imagine, much less match," Fleur said softly.

"Oh, come on, Fleur, I'm still me," Harry protested. "Okay, so I can do a few tricks that you might not know, so what? I've still got to make my way through this silly maze, against Circe knows what that the Ministry's put there for us to play with."

"Merlin help us," Cedric breathed, while Krum fumed. Ludo Bagman seemed to have recovered himself, and was beaming at Harry. "Well said, Harry, well said. And, since she's here under Mary Poppins' supervision, I doubt that we'll have any particular trouble from Mim. So, then, let's be about it, shall we?"

Harry nodded, while the rest of the Champions had looks ranging from reluctance to simmering anger. Ignoring them, Bagman hustled them out of the meeting room and down the short ramp to the entrance to the staging area.

When they arrived, the uproar in the stands told them that Madam Mim had already made her appearance. Looking up, Harry laughed to see her obviously flirting with both Dumbledore and Fudge simultaneously, while occasionally swapping snippy comments with Percy Weasley (standing in for the mysteriously missing Barty Crouch), Maxime and Karkaroff. Most of the crowd seemed to be frozen with shock, while a few looked as though they wanted to run for their lives, screaming.

Bagman, sensing a moment, cast _Sonorus_ once more and went straight into his introductory spiel. Shortly thereafter, Cedric—having the most points thus far—was dispatched into the maze, the mist closing over him and obscuring him from all of those in the stands who weren't equipped with omnioculars. Then, at five-minute intervals, Viktor and Fleur followed him.

Harry, knowing that he had a full fifteen minutes to wait before he would be allowed into the maze, casually shucked out of his robe and began going through a quick stretching exercise in full view of the crowd. Ignoring the catcalls and cries for his attention from the crowd, he dropped into the lotus position and began centering himself. He couldn't allow himself to go too deeply into his meditative trance, but he did sink deeply enough to be able to calm his anxiety while keeping one ear tuned to Ludo Bagman's voice.

He found himself drifting back to conversations about what he might face in the maze.

_"Since we're almost certain that it'll be a maze of some sort, they'll have to stock it with any number of beasties, just to make it interesting." Madam Mim was saying. "Watching you kiddies running a maze, just by itself, is about as exciting as watching milk clabber. They don't want you eating their little pets, so they won't let you transform into anything fun. Of course, I'm betting that it'll be a hedge maze; raising a stone maze would be too much like work for those pansies at the Ministry. No, it's too easy to set the thing, put a few growth enhancers on it, and then let the grounds keeper manage it. A hedge maze also means that they can easily enchant a few bits of it to be grabby and such, so you'll have to watch out for that. And, in a pinch, forget their silly rules and just burn your way through it._

_ Even after Maleficent and Ursula, Mim had been something of a shock to Remus and Sirius—at least, until her first night in Grimmauld Place, when she'd challenged Sirius to a drinking contest. Six bottles of Old Ogden's Red Label later, the two of them had become fast friends; kindred spirits that had finally discovered each other. Suffice it to say that the pair had made for some very interesting lessons for Harry. Fortunately, Sirius' great great grandfather had been one of the initial investors in the Ogden family's distillery; otherwise the Black fortune might have been depleted in keeping the pair well lubricated._

"Now, Mr. Potter," Bagman's voice interrupted Harry's reverie. "It's almost your time."

Rising, Harry nodded. "Thanks, Mr. Bagman."

"Just do us proud, Mr. Potter. There's a great deal riding on your performance, you know," he said cryptically.

Harry didn't know how to respond to this, so he only shrugged and headed into the maze. As Mim had predicted, it was a hedge maze of magically enhanced shrubs, too thick to see through. Letting his eyes unfocus, he looked at the hedges on either side of him with the inner sight that he'd been trained to use over the last few months. While not a skill commonly taught at Hogwarts, it was still quite a useful little ability available to almost anyone with an active magical core. A moment's examination revealed the anti-penetration and sound-muffling spells in the living walls of the maze. Well, no surprises there. He could rattle off at least half a dozen ways to cut through the hedge like a hot knife through butter; Mim had whacked him over the head with a broom often enough when he couldn't do something as simple as that in his lessons.

Madam Mim's methods tended to be long on whacks, but also long on candy bites as rewards for correct answers. "Bonbons and broomsticks," she called it, and even Remus and Mary Poppins agreed that, properly utilized, it was quite effective.

So, while Harry intended to follow the maze as much as possible, it was good to know that he had options. Madam Mim was very big on options. Take shooting up sparks if you ran into trouble: Mim had probably fallen out of her seat laughing when she'd heard Bagman announce that. 'Just what good would that do?' she'd ask. 'Rather hard to send up sparks for help with you're being eaten, don'ya think, ducks?' would be her next comment.

Smiling at the thought, Harry set out at a gentle lope, fast enough to carry him along quickly but at a pace that he could keep up for quite some time without becoming overly tired. Mary Poppins and Madam Mim had both been huge proponents of regular exercise—read 'grueling torture sessions'—designed to increase his physical stamina and condition. He'd never been in better shape in his life, even during the height of Quidditch season, and it showed. His last few sessions with Puddlemere had ended with Harry still relatively fresh, while Oliver and the rest of the team could barely hold onto their brooms. That he liked the muscles he was developing (and so did Oliver, and a couple of the other players) was only a bonus.

The first few challenges were almost too easy for Harry. The blast-ended skrewt (Harry recognized it from Neville's letters) was quite susceptible to Ursula's Lobster Cracker spell. Rationalizing that it was literally 'kill or be killed', Harry dispatched the beast without any hesitation and moved onward. He had a bit of a bad time with the sphinx, but not too much; her riddles didn't take him more than a few moments to work out. After that, she stepped aside quite politely and let him pass without any bother.

He paused when he heard a scream and saw a shower of red sparks coming up from a short distance behind and to his left. Then, he remembered some of Mim's parting advice.

"They'll have people there to take care of the others, luv," she'd said. "Don't you worry about them; you worry about getting my Harry to that sodding cup, then back 'ere with those of use who care about 'em." Mim was always going on like that, so he didn't think anything of it. Still, it was good advice.

His worst moment came when Krum attacked him, but the signs of _Imperio_ were all too obvious; Harry stunned him, wrapped him up just to be on the safe side, and sent up a shower of sparks. He didn't bother waiting for the promised rescue; he just wanted to get the thing over with so he could get to lunch. His appetite had gone up tremendously the last few months; Mary Poppins said not to worry, he was a growing boy and making up for ten years of missed meals, anyway.

The acromantula went down to the Bavarian Buzz-Saw hex, leaving the way clear for Harry to dash to the cup.

He ran into the center of the maze just in time to see Cedric Diggory coming into view from the opposite side. Grinning, he sprinted to the cup, beating Cedric there by almost two full steps.

"Ha! Beat you!" Harry laughed as Cedric pounded to a stop by the cup. "So, fancy meeting you here," he joked, giving Cedric a second to catch his breath. "Come here often?"

"Hh...how did you get here so fast?" Cedric panted. "I had a quarter hour head start on you, and I made good time!"

Harry shrugged. "I didn't waste any time getting here, if that's what you're asking. So, what do we do know?"

"What do you mean? You got here first, you should take it," Cedric said, trying (and failing) not to let his disappointment show.

"I'm not really concerned about that," Harry smiled. "It's all crap anyway. Eternal glory? Yeah, right," he said. "Tell me one...just one...winner of any of these things in the past, and I might believe that."

"But...how about the galleons?" Cedric asked.

Harry shrugged. "Okay, so the sack of galleons would be nice; I'll give you that."

"But you're rich, and your godfather's loaded, so it can't be that important to you," Cedric said, a bit sourly.

"I guess," Harry said, seeing just how important it was to Cedric. "It just seems like they had to bribe people to enter."

"Except you," Cedric said, looking away.

"Yeah, except me," Harry answered. Then, inspiration struck.

"Hey, Cedric?" he asked.

"Yeah?"

"Let's take the thing together."

"What? No, I couldn't do that, you got here first!" Cedric shook his head.

Harry wasn't having any of it, now that he'd had the idea. "Oh, don't be stupid; we can both take the cup, and split the prize. That way, Hogwarts gets the victory, and I can let the reporters chase you for a change."

Cedric grinned. "You'd do that? Are they that bad?"

"Absolutely, and no, they're worse. You'll find out, I promise you," Harry laughed. "Now, ready? On the count of three...one...two...three!"

Both of the boys grabbed the cup, braced for the pulling sensation behind the navel that they expected to carry them back to the maze's starting point. Instead, they landed on strange ground, surrounded by gravestones.

"What the...where are we?" Cedric asked.

"I'm not sure," Harry said, pulling his wand and looking around. "But I'm pretty sure this isn't good."

"Wands out, do you think?" Cedric said, pulling his out and also looking around.

"No duh," Harry snarked. "Unless you've got a pistol on you, that'd work, too." Seeing Cedric's confused look out of the corner of his eye, he clarified. "Muggle weapon, can be quite useful if you know what you're doing with one."

"I know what a pistol is," Cedric snorted. "Just what have you been learning, Harry?"

"All kind of useful things," Harry said. "Including to keep my eyes open when I've just stepped into an obvious trap."

"You think this is a trap?"

Harry's answer was interrupted by a familiar voice. "Master, there are two of them."

"I have no use for anyone other than Harry Potter. Kill the spare," yet another voice hissed.

"Oh, shit!" Harry was moving even as he heard _Avada Kedevra_; diving to knock Cedric out of the way of the spell. Unfortunately, he'd misjudged his footing and went sprawling, his head slamming down onto a broken tombstone. Darkness swept over him even as he fought to stay awake.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Okay, so it's a Cliffy…what better place to break off, and leave you hanging? I am soooooooo evil (Maleficent, eat your heart out!).

And Shout Out! List: To **917brat**, who scored the first review of the second chapter! To **Mr. Mistoffelees**, who guessed Ariel or Eric, and the Sleeping Beauty Fairy Godmothers (good guesses, but not EVIL enough), also to **SeulWolfe** who was the first to guess Ursula (even though **SeulWolfe** also speculated about Ariel and/or the Lobster, Sebastian). Lots of people guessed Ariel, which would have been a good choice; however, this fic was really inspired by a photo I saw from a convention with all of the Evil Queens (drag queens, naturally). This fic was very nearly called 'Harry Potter and the Evil Queens', but that would have given away the surprise! A number of you also thought about King Triton (again, good choice, only not an evil queen). **ReflectionsOfReality** had a great thought about the third task: Jareth, the Goblin King from Labyrinth—again, an excellent choice, but not a Disney Evil Queen as such. There is an excellent fic out there where Dudley wishes that Harry had never appeared, and Jareth grants the wish; taking Harry, he raises him as his own son…sorry, I can't find the name or author of it (please send if you know it, so I can give proper credit in the next chapter). ** Aliengirlguy's **suggestion of Philatities ('just call me Phil') from Hercules is one that I didn't even think of…but would have been VERY interesting! If there's ever been a zero to hero, it's my little Harry! **Deathknighttimas** is actually willing to put money on the Sea Witch—sorry, no bet. ;) And…to **All Of The Rest Of You **who reviewed, but didn't get a reply 'cause of the glitched system…I love you so much that you get a SECOND DOSE of tonic tonight at bedtime!

Re: the 'Susan' vs. 'Hannah' slipup…oops. It should be fixed now (I hope). FYI, Harry was really, really wanting to dance with Cedric at the Ball; he likes Oliver, but he thinks he might like Cedric, too…remember what it was like to be young and in crush with more than one person?

**Next Chapter:** the Big Fight Scene, and the End of the Story, with an Epilogue of Sorts.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** The Big Fight Scene, the wrap up, and an Epilogue of Sorts, in which everyone gets pretty much what they deserve, more or less….

**Disclaimer:** as in the first chapter. No profit, only admiration for the great creative talents who have given all of us so much enjoyment.

**Dedication:** To Miss Brennah Davis, now well and truly graduated from OTIS; her work can be seen at brennahdavis (dot) com. I'm pretty sure that she's the only one in her class to have a novella-length piece dedicated to her as a graduation gift.

**Chapter 4**

In the viewing stands, Mary Poppins suddenly stiffened and lowered her omnioculars. Beside her, Madam Mim's head jerked up, almost causing her to drop Sirius' second-best liquor flask.

"Harry..." Mim hissed, looking at the practically perfect woman beside her.

"Exactly," Harry's Headmistress nodded, gathering her skirts around her as she stood. "We must speak with Dumbledore immediately," she said, moving as she spoke. It was only a matter of seconds before she and Mim, flanked by an anxious Sirius and Remus, stood before a knot of other school Heads and Ministry officials.

"The cup was a portkey, Albus," she began, noticing that none of the group seemed to be paying any attention to the maze. The tiny downward twitch of the corners of her mouth was all the indication she gave as to what she thought about that, however.

"Oh, of course it is," Ludo Bagman spoke up proudly. "Set to bring the winner back to this very spot!"

"Then where are they?" Mary Poppins spat. "Harry and young Diggory took the cup together some moments ago; where are they?"

"Together, you say? Oh, no, they couldn't do that," Bagman said, suddenly very nervous. "We can't have two winners...it just wouldn't be right!"

"I saw them myself," Mary Poppins said, turning to the hag beside her. "Mim?"

Madam Mim sniffed the air, then smacked her lips together once, twice, tasting it. "He's not close..." she said, turning slowly in a full circle. "Somewhere to the south, I think. Fair distance, too. Going to be hard to follow, that far," she said, her brow furrowing.

Mary Poppins nodded decisively. "Go, then. I'll follow along shortly. Use your best judgment, but keep Harry and the other young man safe until I arrive."

Mim's face lit up with glee. "Let anything happen to those two fine young men? Not on my watch!" she cackled, then vanished with a _crack!_

Dumbledore rocked on his feet as Madam Mim blew through the Hogwarts anti-apparition wards. "What the devil...? Just where did that...witch go?" he demanded.

"She's tracking my student, who is quite likely fighting for his life even as we speak," Mary Poppins was in no mood to trade pleasantries. "Your lovely little Tournament has been sabotaged, Albus."

"Surely not," Dumbledore said, shaking his head. "We've had a constant watch on the prize cup ever since the portkey enchantment was placed by the Hogwarts faculty; Alastor Moody himself placed the cup in the maze just this morning."

"Believe what you will, I have a student to find," Mary Poppins snapped, then whirled and strode away.

Sirius Black stepped up to the old wizard and snarled, Remus right beside him. The werewolf's hand was on his friend's arm, but his eyes were glowing a brilliant yellow. Clearly, neither his wolf nor the Lord Black were happy with the current situation.

"Know this, Albus," Sirius growled. "Harry is not only my godson, he's my heir. If anything happens to him, I'll call a blood feud between the Blacks and the Dumbledores. You may be the most powerful wizard around, but you need to think about what happens to those who attract the ire of the Blacks." Spinning, he ran to catch up with Mary Poppins.

Remus stood there a moment longer. "I couldn't love Harry more if he were my own flesh and blood. If this goes badly, Albus, then Sirius won't be alone in calling for your head." He turned and ran after his friend, faster than a man should have been able to move.

"Dear me, Albus," Madam Maxime said. "It seems as though you might have a bit of a problem on your hands."

Albus Dumbledore didn't say anything. He only stood there, fuming.

* * *

><p>Harry drifted back to consciousness slowly. The first thing that he realized was that he couldn't move; he was obviously bound upright to something hard and cold. Feigning unconsciousness, he tested his bonds; whatever they were, they didn't have any give to them. His hands were empty, and he couldn't feel his wand anywhere on his person—obviously, Wormtail and his companion, almost certainly Voldemort—had taken it. Well, unless the pair were better at Divination than he thought, that gave him an advantage or two. Still, Mim was always going on about never tipping your hand too soon; they'd played out this scenario a few times. Harry in particular remembered one morning when he'd awakened bound, gagged, wandless and disillusioned, hanging upside down on London Bridge in his pajamas. He'd missed breakfast, but had a delightful brunch and spent the day wandering muggle London in his transfigured clothes, having a grand time of it. He'd seen the sights, done a bit of shopping, practiced his wandless magic, had the tips of his hair tinted purple, and ridden the buses to his heart's content. The alarms he'd left on his replacement—a Harry-sized homunculus he'd made out of various bits of flotsam and jetsam from the Thames—had gone off in the middle of the afternoon. He'd taken his time about getting back to Number 12, Grimmauld Place, arriving just before tea with a large box of scones from a little bakery he'd discovered not too far from there. When he got back, he found Mim and Sirius still trying to remove the large green and pink spots touching his replica had caused, while Remus and Mary Poppins looked on, not helping.<p>

He'd gotten yelled at by Mim and Sirius (he'd laughed back, reminding them that they'd started it), a smile, pat on the shoulder and 'good show' from Remus, and an extra hour before bed that evening (that he'd used reading about advanced offensive spells in the library) as well as a double dose of medicine 'just in case' from Mary Poppins. All in all, it'd been a brilliant day.

So, bound and wandless but still presumed to be unconscious by his abductors; he could work with that. He let his eyes open just a touch, so he could glance around through the slits. What he saw wasn't exactly encouraging. He was still in a graveyard, probably the same one (never, ever, assume things, he could hear Maleficent saying). Wormtail was struggling with a huge cauldron filled with nasty-looking and -smelling stuff, and he could hear Voldemort's voice faintly hissing from somewhere past the cauldron.

Almost by reflex, Harry suppressed his aura, not wanting to give away the fact that he'd regained consciousness. It seemed to be working, because neither Pettigrew nor Voldemort bothered to speak to him. He heard Wormtail muttering something about bones of the father, and felt the ground shift underneath his feet. Well, it couldn't be _his_ father, he'd been taken to visit the graveyard in Godric's Hollow shortly after Sirius had been cleared, and this wasn't it. He watched through slitted eyes as Wormtail cut off his hand, wincing inside. Then, as Wormtail approached him with a great honking knife, he decided to make his play.

"Stop right there, Pettigrew!" Harry's eyes flashed open, and he pushed his magic into his voice as hard as he could. He was still working on that particular skill, but he gave it his best shot. It was almost enough.

Pettigrew froze, standing like a frumpy statue until Voldemort hissed. "Wormtail! Go on! Finish the ritual! The boy is helpless!" With a shake, Pettigrew stumbled forward.

"Blood of the enemy, unwilling given, you will renew your foe," he chanted, cutting Harry's arm so that the blood flowed freely. Gritting his teeth, Harry bit back a cry of pain. Somewhat clumsily—well, he was missing a hand, after all—the rat fumbled for a vial, collecting a goodly amount of Harry's blood that he dumped into the cauldron.

Voldemort was speaking while his servant was about his gory task. "So, not so unconscious after all, eh, Harry? Pity it will avail you naught in the end. Now, put me in," the voice hissed, as Harry's blood brought the cauldron to a roiling boil.

Lifting a blanket, Pettigrew dumped a misshapen lump of a thing into the cauldron and stepped back, shielding his eyes. Harry was forced to look away as best he could as the cauldron began giving off sparks and smoke. The horrible smell intensified a thousand-fold, making Harry cough and gag. Finally, after a huge belch of flame that reminded Harry of the Goblet of Fire, a gaunt figure rose from the cauldron.

"Robe me," Lord Voldemort commanded, stepping from the cauldron. Shrugging into the robe that Pettigrew had ready, he stepped over to his minion. "My wand," he said, taking it from Pettigrew, holding it up lovingly. "Your arm," he said again, distractedly.

"Thank you, my lord," Wormtail simpered, holding out the bleeding stump of his arm.

"No, fool, your other arm," Voldemort said, snatching the man's other arm forward. Putting the tip of his wand against Pettigrew's mark, he hissed. "Now, let us see just who has the courage to come at my call," he said. Harry watched with morbid interest as the mark burned with black fire, the owner writhing in obvious pain as his master activated it.

"So...you couldn't just give out pagers, or maybe cell phones?" Harry snarked. "Oh, wait, I know...your credit rating's too bad to get one, isn't it? What, Lucy Malfoy wouldn't put you on his plan?" He didn't know just how long he'd been out, but he knew that help would be on the way. All he had to do was keep this lunatic talking, and he'd have reinforcements to get him out of this mess.

"My, such cheek!" Voldemort turned to his captive, sounding impressed despite himself. "Ah, the 'Great Harry Potter'...how kind of you to accept my invitation! Tell me, Potter; just what have you been learning from Albus Dumbledore? Did he teach you about blood curses, and their effects?" Reaching out, Voldemort pressed his finger to Harry's forehead, causing a blinding pain to radiate out from his scar. "Yes, Potter, now you see!" the Dark Lord went on. "By using your blood in the ritual that created this body, I can now touch you without suffering the pain I did when I possessed Quirrell. Unfortunately, you cannot say the same, can you?" he said, touching Harry again just to make the boy scream.

"Did anyone...ever tell you...that you're a rotten host?" Harry managed to gasp. "I've...been to shite parties before...but this one is the worst!"

Voldemort burst into laughter. "Ah, Mr. Potter! I must say, your insolence is quite refreshing. It's almost enough to make me keep you alive as a pet. Sadly, almost is not quite enough."

Around them, the air was suddenly filled with the cracks of apparition, as a number of Death Eaters materialized in the graveyard around them.

"Ah, at last! My faithful Death Eaters," Voldemort said, sarcastically. Turning away from Harry, he began giving what Harry recognized as a standard Evil Overlord monologue; he tuned it out right away while he tested his bonds once again. He kept one ear open, however, making mental notes of the names Voldemort mentioned for future reference. One of the many things he'd learned over the last few months was that 'dead enemies are the best kind'; when he got out of this he'd be making a few 'house calls' to see to just that very thing. Yep, Avery, Crabbe and Goyle Senior, Nott, Senior, Macnair and Lucy Malfoy...they'd all need visiting. He was mildly interested in Voldemort's creation of a new hand for Pettigrew—that could be a useful trick—but not at all happy when Voldemort turned back to him once more.

"And so, my friends, here is Harry Potter, who somehow managed to vanquish me all those long years ago. Tonight is the night I deal with him once and for all! No more will the people of Britain be able to place their hopes for my downfall in a mere child; no, tonight Lord Voldemort will defeat Harry Potter once and for all!"

"So, that's what this is all about? You're still trying to get your mojo back after being zapped by a baby?" Harry forced a laugh. Get them mad, if you can; it'll make them sloppy, he remember Mim saying over and over again. "That is so pathetic, really. Don't you agree, Lucius?" he said, calling out to where he thought the elder Malfoy stood. "So much for that famous Malfoy pride, the way you keep on sucking up to this cut-rate charlatan."

"Silence!" Voldemort roared. With a wave of his wand, he released Harry from the grasp of the statue that held him. "Return his wand," he hissed. "I want to do this properly."

"Well, that'll be a first," Harry remarked, taking his wand and casting a quick healing spell on his arm. Shaking himself out, he moved away from the grabby statue as fast as he could. "So, how're we going to do this?" he asked, beginning to wonder just where his backup was. Surely Mim and Mary Poppins would have noticed by now that the cup hadn't exactly delivered him right to all of that 'eternal glory' he'd been promised.

"I assume that Dumbledore has taught you the proper forms, yes, Potter?" Voldemort was saying. "First, we bow, like so," he demonstrated.

Assume all you like, Harry thought. Dumbledore's taught me exactly squat, but I've been taught, oh yes. "Just a sec," Harry said. "First, we make a quick call to wardrobe," he said, transfiguring his outfit into dueling robes.

"Ah, just the thing!" Voldemort sounded impressed despite himself, and then did the same thing. "You are correct, Mr. Potter; I salute you!" He raised his wand in a formal salute, obviously not noticing what Harry was wearing beneath his dueling robes.

Harry grinned. Let the bastard think that wool and silk were all that he was wearing. A few weeks earlier, a midnight requisitioning raid into the Chamber of Secrets had yielded a large amount of basilisk hide and skins. Properly tanned and tailored, the resultant suit of battle armor covered all of Harry's body except for his hands, face and neck. The skin of the King of Serpents was as tough as dragon hide and just as resistant to spell damage; but much lighter and more supple. Harry's armor breathed like Egyptian cotton and moved like silk but would shrug off anything but the most horrific curses. Also, there were no rules about wearing it under his regulation Tournament gear, which was nothing more than an old-fashioned Quidditch robe.

"Yep, you who about to get fried, I salute you!" Harry returned jauntily, bending low in a Gilderoy Lockhart-style bow. From the low point of the bow, he fired off a nasty spell, then turned his bow into a duck-and-roll that took him behind a convenient tombstone.

Voldemort cursed as Harry's _Castratios_ very nearly emasculated him. A hastily conjured shield saved his newly created manhood, but when he looked up for his opponent, he'd vanished. Just then, a hideous cackle erupted from just behind the ranks of his Death Eaters.

"Good one, ducks! Now, finish the git off, so we can go eat!"

Surprised, Voldemort and all of his Death Eaters spun towards the voice, only to find a short, fat crone sitting on a tombstone, swilling from a pocket flask.

"Tha...that's MIM!" one of the Death Eaters screamed, and promptly fainted.

"Mim? Mad Madam Mim?" Voldemort asked, not really paying attention to the effect his words had on the Death Eaters, most of whom were busy just then soiling their robes.

"The one and only!" Mim saluted the risen Dark Lord with the flask, then ignored him. "Harry! Yoo hoo! Mimsy's here, luv; you can stop playing now and come out."

"Mim! You certainly took your sweet time about it!" Harry's voice came from among the tombstones. "What kept you? Stop for a drink or six along the way?"

Madam Mim snorted. "You track two boys the length of the sodding country in under twenty minutes, then you can tell me how it's done," she snapped. "Now, I'll be grading you on your performance; consider this your final in Dueling Arts. Get on with it!" she finished. Turning to Voldemort, she grinned. "He's gonna wax the floor with your arse, cutie," she grinned, making the most evil man in Britain a bit queasy. "And then, I think I'll take whatever's left back to my place, put back all the little boy bits, and then you and old Mimsy'll have ourselves a bit of a party, eh?"

"Aaugh! Never!" Voldemort cried in horror, firing a banishing spell at the crone. Unfortunately for him, Mim wasn't there any more, and the spell only pulverized one wall of an unlucky mausoleum. Spinning, Voldemort saw a dark figure rise from behind a tombstone. Black gloves, a hood and face wrap now covered the figure, leaving only a pair of flashing emerald eyes glaring at him.

"Potter," he breathed, bringing his wand up. "_Avada Kedavra!_"

Once again, Harry was moving even as the Dark Lord's wand was coming into position. Leaping to the right, he bounced off one grave marker, fired an _Expelliarmus_, bounced and fired again. Three short bursts of magic spat from his wand, and Harry was moving again.

Voldemort shielded himself (not at all happy with how difficult it was; Potter's spells were _strong_) and stalked his prey.

"Come now, Harry, this is hardly the way a formal magical duel is done!" he taunted.

"You're right, Moldy Shorts," Harry sang out, sending a blood-boiling hex on its way. "But then again, I wasn't trained by the Old Coot...I was trained to win," he said, a very nasty skin peeler sizzling from his wand. The medical spell was often used to remove burned skin by healers; in a duel, it would do the same thing...without any anesthetic. At the power level Harry'd just used, it would flay a man completely inside of two seconds.

Voldemort's eyes went wide when he recognized what he had just deflected. "Circe's tits, Potter! I may have been wrong about you all along! Join me, and the two of us will be invincible! We can rule together..."

"Yeah, yeah, saw that movie! Sorry, Snake Face, you _killed_ my father; you can't replace him." Harry ducked, then deflected a putrid yellow curse that he didn't recognize. "You killed my mother, too; don't think I've forgotten about that! Mim! This is just between me and Big Ugly here; keep the Butt Munchers out of my hair, will you?" Harry called out while he ran to his next firing position.

"Yes! This is between you and me, Potter! Stay back, my Death Eaters," Voldemort called out. Of course, he was probably wasting his breath, since most of them were cowering behind various bits of cover, just hoping that whoever won the duel wouldn't notice when they snuck away afterwards.

"'Course I will, ducks!" Mim called out from her new vantage point, on top of the groundskeeper's tool shed. She took another swig from Sirius' second-best flask, kicked her heels and cackled at the grand show she was getting.

It wasn't a formal magical duel she was watching. No, Harry was using every dirty trick she'd ever taught him, and seemed to be making up his own along the way. Oh, but the boy was doing her proud! From his opening cheap shot, every spell had been designed to either finish the fight, or move his opponent in a way he wanted him to move. Voldemort was only returning about one spell for every three; the rest of the time he was too busy dodging or shielding. It was getting to him, and it showed.

"Potter!" Voldemort called out. "I offered you a formal duel! Is this...this dirty fighting...all that you know?"

"Hells, no! I can also do this!" Harry sang out, and a banana cream pie hit the Dark Lord squarely in the face. "But I much prefer to do this," he said, transfiguring the air around his nemesis into sulfuric acid mist.

Voldemort's eyes were streaming as he gasped out a counter charm, returning his air to its normal state. "Oh, Potter, how you'll pay for that!" he growled, his throat burning.

"Put it on my tab, lizard lips," Harry taunted, casting _Ventrillo_ on himself and throwing his voice off to Voldemort's far left. He grinned as Voldemort wasted yet another blasting curse on innocent masonry, then stood and called out "_Accio hepar!_"

Voldemort's whirl turned into a stumble as his liver tried to leap from his body. Grabbing his side, he countered Harry's spell, then glared at the figure standing before him.

"Nasty, Potter, very nasty," he said, once more impressed despite himself.

"Coming from you, I'll take that as a compliment," Harry said, and Voldemort could feel him grinning behind his mask. "But Mim's right, it's almost lunch time, and I'm a growing boy. Time to finish this. _ Expelliarmus!_"

"_Avada Kedavra!_" Voldemort said at exactly the same time. The two spells met in an explosion of magic, causing a bridge between the two brother wands to form. Above the pair, a golden dome formed, sealing them off from their audience.

Mim looked on in surprise, then shook herself as one of the Death Eaters began casting spells at the dome. "No, no, no!" she said, hopping down and moving to intervene. "No interference," the last came out as more of a grunt as Mim shifted into one of her favorite forms and charged.

Inside the dome, Harry was holding his wand with both hands, fighting to put more pressure on the intersection of the two spells. Slowly, he was forcing it back towards Voldemort, and had almost pushed it into the other wand when he was distracted by a scream from outside the dome. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a Death Eater being trampled by a large pink rhinoceros. Reassured, he turned his focus back to his battle of wills, and was rewarded by a series of images that were apparently being forced out of Voldemort's wand. In the swirling mist inside the dome, Harry saw an elderly man, and then...

"Mum?" Harry gasped, almost loosing his focus.

"Concentrate, Harry!" Lily Potter ordered, her love plainly showing on her face. "Don't give up!"

"Don't let him beat you, son," James Potter's wraith stood beside his wife, beaming. "That's my boy! Show him what a Potter can do!"

"Dad?" Harry shook himself, then redoubled his efforts. "You're both here..." he began, then had to save his breath to keep fighting.

"Harry, we don't have any time," his mother was saying. "When we tell you, break the connection and take the portkey away."

"We can only distract Voldemort for a few seconds before we fade," James agreed. "We love you son."

"But...you can't leave! No! Not yet!" Harry wailed.

"We have to, son. Remember, we love you," Lily said. "Now, Harry! Break the connection," she said, as she and James dove for Voldemort's face.

Sobbing, Harry broke the connection, staggering back. Then, shaking his head, he muttered, "sod the portkey. This ends now." Taking a deep breath, he centered himself, reaching down into his magical core, pulling it up and using it to twist his form...

...and a young dragon, all sleek black scales and glowing green eyes rose about the gravestones in Little Hangleton. Gathering itself, the dragon leaped at the Dark Lord, roaring his vengeance as he came.

Voldemort had been surprised when his wand had locked with Harry's. He'd read about the _prior incantum_ effect, but never imagined that he'd actually see it. Still, he was not terribly surprised when the spirits of his last kills emerged from the wands. He was actually more surprised that the boy had managed to force the stream of magic back on him, but he supposed that it was because his new body was still weak and untrained.

When the Potter's spirits rushed him, he was ready for them. A quick wind spell held them back for the few seconds it took them to fade. Then, just as they dissipated, he looked up...and screamed.

The black dragon's roar drowned out his scream, and the Dark Lord threw up his arm in a futile gesture of protection and warding while he backpedaled. This was a bad choice, as he found out when the dragon's mouth snapped shut, neatly severing the arm above the elbow. The shock made him fall backwards, gasping in pain.

The dragon reared back, then spat out the limb. Shaking its head, it spat again and again, then began clawing at its tongue, whining and gagging.

Voldemort felt himself fading, and had just enough presence of mind to cauterize the stump of his arm before slumping down, exhausted and in shock. "Wormtail!" he managed to gasp out. "Portkey us away, now!" he commanded.

Luckily for the Dark Lord, his most faithful servant was nearby, and heard his master's call. "Yes, Master," he cried, running over and pulling out his own wand. Ignoring the dragon now scraping its tongue back and forth over the ground, Wormtail pulled out a piece of rope and hastily converted it into a portkey. "Here, Master," he said, holding out the rope for Voldemort to take. Tucking his wand into his belt, the dark wizard grasped the rope with his one remaining hand before being whisked away to safety.

Seeing him gone, Mim trotted back over to the young dragon and horned him in the flank to get his attention. Shifting back into human form, Harry fell to his knees and vomited.

"Yuck, yuck, yuck," he kept repeating.

"Not quite to your taste, eh, ducks?" Mim—now human once more herself—laughed. "Should have warned you, I reckon, only I never figured that you'd actually try to eat a construct body. Not too surprising that it's about as yummy as yak taint, considering just what's in that cauldron over there."

"Nasty, that's what it is," Harry said, still making faces at the taste in his mouth. "Where are the Death Eaters?"

"Dunno," Mim shrugged. "Not here, at any rate. Most of them left when I started having a little 'talk' with the tall blonde one."

"Oh," Harry said, swaying on his feet a bit as his adrenaline surge began to wear off. Then, suddenly, he remembered. "Cedric!" he yelped, staggering over to his friend's body. "No, no, no, no! He can't be dead!" Harry gasped, falling to his knees beside the tall Hufflepuff.

"Harry! Are you all right?" Mary Poppins' voice rang out.

"Mary Poppins! Over here!" Harry sobbed, falling over Cedric's body. "That bastard Wormtail killed him! I tried to knock him out of the way, but I slipped, and got knocked out."

"Nonsense," Mary Poppins sniffed. Walking up, she nudged Cedric with her toe. "Surely you're mistaken, Harry. Now, Mr. Diggory, I'll thank you to wake up; you're upsetting my student. That's it, spit spot, up you go, now. This is no time for lollygagging or laying about."

A long, shuddering intake of breath hissed into Cedric's body, and his limbs twitched. Astonished, Harry grabbed the older boy up into a crushing hug. "Cedric! You're alive" he crowed, burying his head in the other boy's hair.

"Can't...breathe," Cedric gasped, wiggling enough to make Harry loosen his rib-crushing grip. "What happened?" he managed to say, taking several deep breaths.

"Oh, nothing much," Harry laughed, relieved and exhausted. "Wormtail did some weird ritual to resurrect Voldemort, I fought him, then bit his arm off. Then, he and all of the Death Eaters portkeyed away. Mary Poppins woke you up, so here we are," Harry finished, smiling down.

Cedric Diggory shook his throbbing head, not understanding a fraction of what he'd just heard. "Harry...what...how?" he asked.

"You, git, got AK'd, but then you got better," Harry snickered. "Lots of good you did me, lying there like a great lump while I was fighting the Dark Lord."

"You fought the Dark Lord?" Cedric's eyes went wide.

"Yeah, and he tastes really bad," Harry nodded, snickering at the look in Cedric's eyes as he digested what Harry said.

"Enough, you two, time to be getting back" Madam Mim interrupted. "Up you go!" she said, pulling them both to their feet.

"Just so, Mim," Mary Poppins agreed. "Now, everyone, join hands; Harry, take mine," she said. Then, as she raised her umbrella, the entire group vanished.

* * *

><p>Sirius and Remus waited just outside the gates of Hogwarts, as they'd been told to do by Mary Poppins just before she left to follow Madam Mim. As requested, Remus had sent a Patronus message off to Eddie Spindle, so the two were only a bit surprised when he appeared. Putting away the pocket watch he'd made into a portkey, the solicitor was quickly brought up to speed on just what had transpired, and where they stood at the moment.<p>

"So, the two Champions abducted by portkey, and Mary Poppins and Madam Mim gone after them?" he asked, just for confirmation. "Well, I rather doubt that pair will encounter anything they can't handle; I suggest that we just wait for them to return."

So, Sirius went back to pacing and drinking from his flask while Remus stood there, fuming.

All three of them were caught quite by surprise when Mary Poppins' group appeared a short distance away from them.

"Harry!" Sirius cried, taking off at a dead run, Remus right behind him.

"Sirius!" Harry called out, staggering a few steps, only to be caught up in his godfather's hug.

"Mary Poppins, Mim," Remus said, skidding to a halt. "Any problems? Where were the boys?"

"Little Hangleton," Mary Poppins answered. "And yes, there were problems. Still, everyone's back safe and sound, but we do need to meet with Dumbledore as soon as possible."

"I see that your solicitor's made it here; good," Mim smiled in her spooky way. "Always good to have one of them around when dealing with Ministry types," she finished.

"I'm always happy to be of service to such a lovely creature," Eddie Spindle smiled, giving Mim a little bow. Mim simpered, while Harry, Remus and Sirius all rolled their eyes. Meanwhile, Cedric Diggory just stood there, becoming more confused by the second.

"No time for that," Mary Poppins announced. "Off we go, briskly now," she said. And, fitting words to deeds, she set off at a fast walk for the Quidditch pitch.

They hadn't gone halfway before they met a crowd of people, all of whom were in an uproar. Led by Albus Dumbledore, who'd felt them cross the wards as they entered the grounds, the assorted school Heads and Ministry personnel, along with Minister Fudge himself and several of the Hogwarts faculty. As he was in front of the little mob, Dumbledore was able to speak first.

"Well, I see that both of our Champions have been returned to us! Wonderful, wonderful!"

"No thanks to your stupid trophy cup," Harry bit out. "It took us straight to where Wormtail was waiting for us, and then the rat used my blood to make a new body for Voldemort."

"What? No, that can't be true! The Dark Lord can't have returned," Fudge began to bluster.

"Are you calling my student a liar?" Mary Poppins asked coldly.

"Well, er...not as such...I mean, everyone knows that the Dark Lord was vanquished by Mr. Potter over a decade ago," Fudge tried again.

"And I'm telling you, he's back again," Harry said. "I don't know how, but he's got himself a new body, and it tastes _horrible_! Ow!" he finished, as Mim elbowed him in the ribs. "What?" he demanded.

"Ix-nay on the Asting-tay," Mim hissed, then smiled at the horrified looks around them. "Poor things delirious, he is; all the strain he's been under since breakfast, you know how these teenage boys are, everything's about food with them."

"Mr. Diggory, is this true?" Ludo Bagman asked carefully.

"Er...I really couldn't say, sir. I was...unconscious...most of the time." Cedric blushed, looking down at his shoes.

"So, Potter, all we really have to go on is your word," Percy said, giving Harry a glare. "I'd hardly consider that reliable testimony," he sneered.

"What about me, sonny? I was there, and saw Harry fight the baddie to a standstill. Do I count?" Mim demanded, hands on her hips.

"Madam, considering your reputation, I would be reluctant to take your word about the weather, much less about something as fanciful as the alleged return of the Dark Lord," Percy said, not realizing just how close to death he was coming.

"Why, you little...I'll spread your liver on toast, I will," Mim snarled, and started to lunge at the pompous young man. Fortunately for Percy, she was stopped by Mary Poppins' hand on her shoulder.

"Calmly now, Mim; the fool isn't worth the effort," she said, dismissing Percy completely with a glance. "Now, Albus, I want to know just what kind of investigation will be done into the trophy cup itself. Someone had to alter the portkey, which leaves us with only a small number of possibilities."

"Certainly the matter bears looking into," Dumbledore agreed. "I presume you brought the cup back with you?"

"Of course," Mary Poppins said, producing the cup from a fold of her skirt. Harry really didn't remember seeing her pick it up, but let it pass. "Now, if we can see about doing an analysis of the magical signatures on the thing..."

"I'll handle that," Mad-Eye Moody said, reaching for the cup. "I'll take it to the castle immediately."

"Actually, I was thinking about having Amelia Bone's people in London investigate it thoroughly," Mary Poppins answered him. "They can do an independent analysis, and call in the Unspeakables at need. Since you were the one to place the cup in the maze to begin with, Alastor, you should know that you're one of our prime suspects."

"Bah! Very well, do it your way. While you're mucking about contacting London, the real culprit will no doubt be using the time to his advantage. In the meantime, I'm going to take these two boys to Poppy Pomphrey for a checking over. Come along, Potter, Diggory," Professor Moody said, catching the two Champions up with a glance and stamping off.

Harry and Cedric exchanged glances, then both of them looked around at the group of adults. Since it seemed that a number of different arguments were about to erupt—and Moody's advice was actually quite sensible—Harry shrugged, nodded to Remus, and followed after the one-legged ex-Auror.

They hadn't been gone two minutes before Madam Mim eased up to Mary Poppins.

"So...is there a reason that Alastor Moody reeks of Polyjuice?" she asked quietly.

* * *

><p>Despite his leg, Moody set a good pace to the castle. When Harry and Cedric started to talk about what had just happened, he shushed them. "Not here, lads; let's get you both inside and away from prying ears. Then I'll be wanting the entire story."<p>

Once again, his words seemed sensible. So, the boys kept silence until they were inside Moody's office.

"I thought we were going to the infirmary?" Cedric asked.

"All in good time," Moody said, waving both boys to take seats while he began rummaging through his cabinets. "First, I wanted to hear for myself what it was like."

Both Champions were confused, and it showed on their faces. Irritated, Moody went on. "What was it like, to see the Dark Lord reborn? To stand before him, and to hear his voice?" Moody's excitement was plain, as was his desperation at not being able to find what he was looking for in his supplies.

"I...I guess it was...pretty scary," Harry said, while Cedric only shrugged.

"Oh, yes, it would have been," Moody agreed, now rifling through old potion boxes. "And when he called his servants to him, how many came?" he demanded, whirling on Harry. "How many of them actually had the nerve to come and stand before him once more?" His eyes lit with an eager gleam as he demanded details.

"I...didn't really get a good count," Harry said, then realized something. "But...how did you know that he called the Death Eaters? We never said anything about that, did we, Cedric?"

"_Stupefy!_" Before Cedric could answer, he slumped over, stunned by the DADA Professor. Harry's head snapped around, only to find himself staring at Moody's wand.

"It was you!" Harry accused.

"Of course it was, Potter! I was the one who confounded the Goblet in the first place; I never expected that fool Poppins to actually come and collect you. I altered the portkey and placed it in the maze, right under that senile idiot Dumbledore's very nose! Then, just to make sure that you'd be the one to get the cup, I got myself assigned to 'patrol duty' around the maze. I put an_ Imperio_ on Krum to get him to take out the Veela bint, and he almost took out your boyfriend there," the one-eyed man said, gesturing at the unconscious Cedric.

"He's not my boyfriend," Harry groused, holding his bleeding arm.

"If you say so," Moody leered. "He certainly was making eyes at you on the way up here," he went on.

"He's _not_ my boyfriend," Harry repeated hotly.

Moody just leered again, then shook his head. "Whatever. Anyway, I never thought that you'd be such a gentleman and let him take the cup with you. He never should have been to the graveyard; I'm surprised that he's still alive. So...what was it like?" he crouched in front of Harry expectantly.

"He's hideous, and when I bit his arm off it tasted awful," Harry shrugged, making a face at the remembered taste.

"You...bit his arm off?" Moody recoiled. "You little fool! You maimed the Dark Lord! Oh, he'll make your life a living hell..."

_**BOOM! **_

The door to Moody's office exploded inward, and Mary Poppins, Albus Dumbledore and Madam Mim charged into the office. In the hall behind them, Harry had a glimpse of Sirius, Remus, Snape and Fudge, as well as several others.

Moody recoiled from the threesome, his wand flying from his hand to Mary Poppins as he backed up against the wall. Dumbledore kept him at wand point while Mim advanced on him like a tiger stalking a deer.

"Well, well, well...so, I wonder just who's hiding underneath all that Polyjuice," she purred. "Let's see, shall we?" Reaching into her skirts she pulled out a small bag. Shaking out a bit of powder from the bag into her hand, she blew the powder into the face of the Hogwarts professor. Moody jerked back, but couldn't avoid the small cloud that settled around him. As soon as the dust touched him, his features began to shift and transform, quickly settling into...

"Barty Crouch, Junior!" Dumbledore barked. "But, he died in Azkaban!"

"Apparently not," Mary Poppins said, looking at the young man carefully. "Perhaps if your Potions Master could arrange for some Veritiserum, we might find out what has really happened?"

"Right away," Snape said from the door, then disappeared.

"Oh, I don't know that we'll need to wait for that," Mim laughed, then locked eyes with the faux Professor. "You're the real Barty, Junior, aren't you?"

Crouch's eyes glazed over, and his voice was flat. "Yes, my lady."

"Very good, Junior. Now, who tampered with the Goblet of Fire?" Mim's voice was honey-sweet as she questioned the (much) younger man.

"I did."

"And did you do it under someone's orders?"

"Yes."

"Whose orders?"

"The Dark Lord's."

"Ah...that would be Voldemort?"

"Yes."

"And did you tamper with the Tournament Cup?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"To send Harry Potter to the Dark Lord."

"Why?"

"So that Potter's blood could be used in the ritual of rebirth for the Dark Lord."

"The bone, flesh and blood ritual?"

"Yes."

"Since you were here, who did the ritual?"

"Wormtail, Mistress."

"And did it work?"

"Yes."

"How do you know?"

"My Mark burned when he summoned his loyal followers."

"Just now?"

"Some time ago, Mistress. Earlier today, after Potter was sent to him. Also, Potter told me about his return; the stupid boy claims that he dueled the Dark Lord and bit his arm off."

"Indeed," Mim said, breaking eye contact and stepping back. "Well, that's that. Now, what do we do with him?"

"He's an Azkaban escapee, he'll be Kissed at once, of course!" Cornelius Fudge burst out.

"Certainly not! He's our best witness, aside from Harry, as to just what transpired today." Dumbledore said.

"Mim, stay with him; don't let him be Kissed," Mary Poppins ordered. "I'm going to take Harry and Cedric to the infirmary; Harry's arm should have been treated long before now." Waking Cedric, she escorted the two young men out, away from the mob in the DADA Professor's office.

* * *

><p>Sorting out Harry's wounds took Poppy Pomphrey less than fifteen minutes. Unfortunately for the Champions, she then scanned the pair and decreed that both of them would be staying over night for observation. Harry was showing evidence of magical exhaustion, and Cedric had a faint residue of Dark magic clinging to him.<p>

"If I didn't know better, I'd say that you'd been brushed by the Killing Curse," Poppy said, which of course led the boys to telling her exactly what happened to them during the task.

"Oh, Merlin!" was her only response. "You mean to tell me, Mr. Potter, that you bit the arm off of the Dark Lord?"

"Well, I was a dragon at the time," Harry blushed, making Cedric laugh out loud.

"Only Harry," the Hufflepuff laughed, ruffling Harry's hair.

"Gerroff!" Harry protested, trying (and failing) to duck away from the older boy.

Poppy was waving her wand over Harry once more. "I don't find anything wrong with your digestive tract, Mr. Potter, although there is some sort of strange residue in your stomach. I'll give you a purgative which should clear it out in just a few hours." The nurse bustled off, shaking her head.

"Oh, joy. A purgative. Can my life get any worse?" Harry moaned, to Cedric's fresh laughs.

"Don't worry, I'm sure that she won't tell anyone. Me, on the other hand, I'll have blackmail material on the 'Great Harry Potter' for the rest of my life!"

"Git!" Harry attacked, grabbing Cedric and sending his fingers looking for ticklish spots.

"Augh! Help! Get him off me!" Cedric laughed, fighting back weakly.

"Boys! That will be quite enough!" Poppy barked, returning with a small bottle in her hand, a smile on her face. "Separate beds, if you please. I must say, Mr. Potter, from the articles in the _Prophet_ I'd assumed that you and Oliver Wood were...an 'item'?

Harry had the grace to blush. "Oliver and I are just good friends," Harry demurred. "We both love Quidditch, and his team has been kind enough to let me fly with them sometimes."

"I see," Poppy said. "Well, then, drink this; you know where the water closet is. I also want you to drink plenty of water, and both of you should eat everything on the plates the house elves bring you tonight and tomorrow morning. Do I make myself clear?"

Both boys nodded, and Harry gulped the vial's contents while Cedric looked on in sympathy. Taking back the flask, Poppy made to return to her office. "Now, I want you both to rest; there will time enough tomorrow for dealing with the repercussions of the Tournament."

When she had gone, Cedric sat up and looked over at Harry. "Before that stuff starts to work, I need to ask you some things."

"What?" Harry asked, suspicious.

"First of all...was I dead, back there? I remember seeing the AK coming at me, and then...everything went dark, until I woke up and your Headmistress brought us back here."

Harry paused, then shrugged. "I honestly don't know, Cedric. I tried to shove you out of the way, but I hit my head and passed out. When I woke up, I was bound to a tombstone, and Wormtail took my blood to bring back Voldemort. And then," Harry shrugged. "You heard the rest."

"So...Dark Lords taste bad?" Cedric asked curiously.

"Really, really bad," Harry said, making a face and smacking his mouth at the memory.

"Oh," Cedric said. "What about Oliver Wood?"

"I've never bitten his arm off," Harry joked.

"That's not what I meant!" Cedric snapped. Then, he also blushed. "I meant...about him being your boyfriend," he finished.

"Oliver and I...I don't know what we are," Harry confessed softly. "We've gone out a couple of times, but...I don't know," he finished, shaking his head. Then, he looked up at the other young man. "Why?"

Cedric blushed to the roots of his hair. "I just thought...this summer, if you had the time...you and I could go flying, maybe?"

Harry smiled. "Yeah, that could be fun." Then, he grinned impishly. "Maybe Oliver might want to come with us?"

Cedric looked sour, then grinned himself. "What do you think Oliver would say about that?"

"Knowing Oliver, he'd probably be all for it," Harry smirked. "I think I should warn you; he can be a bit...insistent, if you know what I mean."

"I think I'm looking forward to finding out," Cedric smirked back.

Harry didn't respond, but got a strange look on his face and ran from the room. It was the last that Cedric saw of him for several hours.

* * *

><p>By the time Poppy released the boys the next morning, the <em>Daily Prophet<em> had already arrived. Fueling the various rumors and lies was the fact that Harry and Cedric had both been sequestered in the infirmary overnight.

Harry invited Cedric and his parents to a late breakfast in the guest quarters, which they eagerly accepted. It turned out that, as Mary Poppins had suspected, Fudge had tried to have Crouch Jr. kissed overnight.

Madam Mim was fishing for compliments in her new dress, which looked suspiciously like a Dementor's robe. When Sirius told her she looked lovely in it, she blushed and said, "they're spectral creatures, hard to fight, those Dementors. The trick's to turn them solid, then you can gut 'em like fish." She promised to show them all the technique later, when they had more time and a proper place to practice.

Amelia Bones had sent a special team of Aurors to collect the younger Crouch, and he was now in her custody. The head of the DMLE had had a few choice words with the Minister, so there was very little fear that he would be Kissed before having a second, proper trial.

Ludo Bagman had vanished, and there were rumors of him being on the run from Goblin debt collectors. Leprechaun gold had been mentioned, and since no one with any sense ever tried to cheat a Goblin, it wasn't expected that he would be putting in an appearance any time soon.

Harry and Cedric had been declared co-winners in the Triwizard Tournament, and would split the prize money between them. An interview with the _Prophet_ and the other papers was scheduled for later that day, so Harry and Cedric had time to work out their stories. Fudge was still insisting that the Dark Lord hadn't returned; Harry was determined to prove that he had, and was going to offer pensieve and Veritiserum testimony to that effect. Eddie Spindle had returned to London, but was expected back at Hogwarts early in the afternoon with a legal-grade pensieve, certified Veritiserum and a wizarding stenographer...just in case. Amelia Bones had also promised to return that afternoon, so that Harry would only have to go through the procedure a single time.

Dumbledore, to absolutely no one's surprise, invited himself to their morning meeting. He claimed to be quite happy with Harry's survival, and made no bones about his certainty that Harry was telling the truth about the incidents in the graveyard. He was less than happy when Mary Poppins and Madam Mim both turned on him about just how the Dark Lord had managed to come back.

"He looked like a snake, he did," Mim insisted. "That means he's probably used the old Assyrian, or maybe Babylonian, rituals. That leaves us with two choices: a phylactery, or a horcrux. Which is it, Albus?"

Dumbledore hemmed and hawed, but finally admitted that he was almost certain that the former Tom Riddle had made at least one horcrux for himself. "But it probably is more," he said. "I've been researching the subject, and I believe that he may have made as many as six."

"That would explain a great deal," Mary Poppins mused, Madam Mim nodding her agreement. "If true, then he'll be virtually immortal until the last one of them is destroyed; the disadvantage for him is that splitting one's soul so many times leaves each fragment significantly weaker than larger pieces would be."

"He's probably used seven as his linking number," Remus added, thinking out loud. "Seven is such a strong magical number, I wouldn't be at all surprised if there weren't rituals using seven soul fragments that would bolster the strength of each fragment. We need to ask Doctor Facilier and Hades about that, Maleficent, too."

"Right you are," Mim agreed. "One of them will know, that's for certain. Still, he didn't have the advantage of that in the graveyard; sweetness here," she laughed, ruffling Harry's hair and ignoring his 'gerroff, old hag', "did us all proud."

"Yes, he most certainly did," Albus beamed. "I'm certainly looking forward to having him back next year, so we can all see just how far he's come these last few months."

"Yes, well, pity he won't be coming back, Albus," Sirius grinned.

"WHAT? I can't allow that!" Dumbledore thundered, then caught himself. "I mean...of course, Harry will return here next year; the contract of the Goblet has been completed. There's absolutely no reason for him not to return to Hogwarts for the remainder of his education."

"Except that 'he' doesn't want to," Harry said firmly. "I've learned more these last few months than any three Hogwarts graduates put together, Dumbles. Plus, I've not had to put up with ghosts who only teach one tiny piece of a subject, Professors who hate me, or meddling old coots in general. Nope, not coming back, and you can't say I'm not learning," Harry bored on, running right over Dumbledore's attempt to interrupt him. "I passed my OWLS with flying colors, and I'll be doing the same thing on my NEWTS next spring, two years early."

"We did a little research, Albus," Mary Poppins said. "It's amazing what the Unspeakables have stored away, especially in the prophecy room. And, since Harry is the subject of several of them," she smiled. "Oh, yes! Surely you didn't think that yours was the only seer to have commented on my pupil, here?"

Dumbledore's shock was plain to see. "I...no, I suppose that it never occurred to me that there might be more than one prophecy concerning Harry."

"Sloppy," was all that Mary Poppins said about that. "Still and all, prophecies are bothersome things, subject to interpretation and not at all reliable. The best course is usually to ignore them, and let events play out as they will. Sadly, we suspect that Mr. Riddle has already heard at least some of your prophecy. Because of that, he's convinced that he must kill Harry, or be killed by him. So, like it or not, Harry must act as though the prophecy is true." She sniffed once, shaking her head. "As I said, sloppy."

"But you see why Harry must come back to Hogwarts," Dumbledore insisted. "This is the only place where he can be trained to face Voldemort..."

"Like my parents were trained?" Harry scoffed. "No, I won't be quiet about this," he said, waving down several people who tried to shush him. "James and Lily Potter were both Hogwarts graduates, and neither of them lasted more than a few minutes against Riddle. I've faced him twice now, while I've been at 'the safest place in Britain'; I can tell you that he doesn't care about Goblin rebellions, or turning hedgehogs into pincushions. He doesn't fight with cheering charms or flobberworm spit, either. No, coming back here is only the surest way I can think of to get myself killed. I'm perfectly happy with Mary Poppins and her friends as teachers. If there's any way that I can keep them, then I will," he said, smiling at the woman who had been his Headmistress for the past several months.

Mary Poppins looked stern, but the corners of her mouth twitched. "Such cheek! Is this the attitude I can expect from you for the next year, Mr. Potter?"

Harry shrugged, grinning and trying to look charming. "Maybe," he admitted, then turned the puppy dog eyes on full force.

"Harry, please...I can always arrange extra training for you, with myself, or Professor Snape," Dumbledore tried one last time.

"SNAPE! Is that the best you can do, old man?" Harry exploded, then began laughing. "Oh, sweet Morgana, if you ever hoped to lure me back, that was exactly the wrong thing to say!"

"Really, Albus, you know the two of them get on like two cats in a sack!" Remus shook his head.

"Professor Snape can teach Harry things about the Dark Lord..." Dumbledore began.

Madam Mim was the one to cut the old man off this time. "And just how is that helpful, Albus? We already know that he'll go to any extent to increase his power, even to splitting his soul. I'd say that gives us a pretty good idea of what his limits are—exactly nothing! So, we need to train Harry to face someone who'll do anything, kill anyone, suck the magic out of all and sundry to achieve his goals. Now, what else can your boy teach mine, here?"

"Professor Snape..."

"Won't last two minutes with me. I'll eat the greasy git, and be done with it," Harry said mulishly. "And if I can get a jury of former students of his, I'll not only get off, but they'll give me a medal."

"Mr. Potter is essentially correct in that," Eddie Spindle spoke up for the first time. "Professor Snape's overt hatred of him is well known, and would be easily established in a court of law. Given the Dark Mark Snape carries, as well as Mr. Potter's history versus the Dark Lord, I rather doubt that any jury would convict him for killing one of the Dark Lord's minions. Even your testimony, Albus," he went on, preempting Dumbledore's reflexive disagreement, "wouldn't be enough to counter that. In fact, once certain...irregularities...concerning Snape's conduct over the years is brought into evidence, it will be very easy to open an investigation of him...and you. I assure you, such an investigation would be quite inconvenient for you, Albus. We know about what you did with the Potter's will, and how you abrogated James and Lily's wishes for Harry's fosterage. How do you think the _Prophet_ will report that, eh?" The tubby little solicitor grinned coldly.

"It was all for the greater good," Dumbledore began, then sputtered to a halt. He was outmaneuvered, and these people had far too much in the way of embarrassing and incriminating details about him for him to bully...for the present. "Very well, do things your way."

"Oh, don't look so glum, Albus," Sirius said lightly. "We'll still be around; after all, you've done the most research on Tommy Boy, you'll have to share it with us."

"Just remember, old man, if we even suspect for a second that you're holding back on us, I'll file charges against you before the Wizengamot for putting me with my aunt and uncle, and then sealing my parents' wills. The Goblins know, and they aren't happy with the way you played them, either," Harry said. "You've stolen from me, and my line, and made the Goblins complicit in your acts. Now, do you really want to be remembered as the man who started a Goblin rebellion?" At that moment, he looked considerably older than his fourteen years.

Dumbledore shook his head, stunned. They had apparently worked out just how he'd used Harry's family money to fund his own manipulations over the past several years. Bringing that to light would ruin him. Now was not the time to object to Harry's plans; he needed to give the appearance of defeat, even cooperation. There would be time aplenty later on to bring Harry back under his control, he was certain of it.

"Well, now that Harry's future education is settled, I say that we all enjoy our breakfast," Sirius said, helping himself to a scone. Since no one had a better idea, getting everyone to go along with him was quite easy.

* * *

><p><strong>An Epilogue (of sorts)<strong>

Harry's testimony, and the subsequent awards ceremony went off without a hitch. The papers had enough material for several issues worth of front-page stories, and all of the reporters went away satisfied.

Lucius Malfoy was admitted to St. Mungo's on the afternoon of the third task for extensive injuries he sustained when he was 'trampled beneath a mad horse in his stables'. For a while it was debatable as to whether or not he would live, but eventually the superb staff at St. Mungo's managed to pull him through. He did, however, walk with a limp, and never regained full function in his right hand and arm. Because of Harry's testimony, upon his release from hospital he was immediately taken to the Ministry and questioned by Amelia Bones. He did admit to having apparated to the graveyard when his old Mark burned; he claimed it was to investigate the summons. He offered his full cooperation with the DMLE, as well as collaborating Harry's story. As he had already been cleared of charges of supporting the Dark Lord because of the Imperious curse, no new charges were brought. Three days after this story appeared in the _Prophet_, he was found dead in the gardens behind Malfoy Manor, victim of the AK. The very next day, Narcissa and Draco left Britain for the Continent, and did not return for several years thereafter.

Harry's list of 'people who need visiting' kept Amelia Bone's staff busy for the next several weeks. Most tried to bluff their way through, _a la_ Lucius Malfoy, with varying degrees of success. Some—most notably Avery and Macnair—ran, prompting manhunts that lasted several months. All were either killed or captured prior to Voldemort's last battle. Those who were captured were all Kissed, it having been decided that Azkaban was an insufficient punishment for such as they.

Harry, Mary Poppins, Madam Mim, Sirius and Remus left Hogwarts immediately after the awards ceremony. They returned in small groups, usually one or two of the adults with Harry, at intervals over the next few months to review pensieve memories with Dumbledore and speculate about the horcruxes. Dumbledore initially proved reluctant to involve them fully, but after he contracted a severe rotting curse from one of the horcruxes, he finally realized that he could not find and eliminate them by himself.

Harry, Cedric and Oliver spent a great deal of time together over the summer, and Oliver managed to get both of his friends tickets to several of Puddlemere's games. These evolved into regular seats when the team's management realized just what a marketing coup it would be to advertise that both of the Triwizard Champions were regular attendees.

Harry and his family (which, of course, included Mary Poppins) also spent a month in South America that summer. The horcrux in Harry's scar was removed by a coven of Peruvian sorcerers, and placed into a specially constructed crystal. This crystal was used to scry for the other horcruxes, which eventually led to all of them being found and destroyed.

The crystal itself, when it was the last remaining horcrux, was used to bait a trap for the Dark Lord. In October of what would have been Harry's seventh Hogwarts year, Voldemort and a small cadre of his Death Eaters were brought to Godric's Hollow, where they were met by a much stronger force of Aurors and FOH (Friends of Harry), along with Harry himself. Using a custom-made wand (to avoid any recurrence of the_ prior incantum _effect), Harry smashed the last crystal and then destroyed the Dark Lord Voldemort once and for all. He didn't have to transform to do it, and those who witnessed the duel later claimed to never having seen such a display of magic in all their lives.

Albus Dumbledore, by then nearly dead from the curse on his arm, found out about the demise of Voldemort the next morning, when he read about it in the _Prophet_. He was not terribly pleased, even less so when it was three days later before anyone actually showed up in person to tell him about the battle.

Dumbledore died later that year. It was a major scandal when Harry did not appear at the funeral; however, it was later revealed that he was unable to 'get away' to attend. At the time, Harry was working with the ICW, Peruvian and Chilean Ministries to put down a cabal of cannibal necromancers in Terra del Fuego. The _Crystal Ball_ broke the story of Harry's activities, which coincidentally made the _Prophet's_ denunciation of Harry for missing 'his beloved mentor's' funeral seem a bit trite.

The Weasley family eventually settled with the Ministry for a very large, undisclosed sum of galleons. Molly died from acute apoplexy during a meeting with Fudge and Crouch, Sr. shortly after Ron was admitted to St. Mungo's. Arthur retired from the Ministry, and returned to the Burrow, where he spent the remainder of his days tinkering with his beloved muggle items and spoiling his grandchildren. The twins eventually became the proprietors of the largest chain of joke shops in Britain, buying out Zonko's in their twelfth year of operation of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Ginny transferred to Beauxbatons, but was forced to withdraw due to pregnancy in her sixth year. She married the boy—a young French wizard from a good family—but was divorced two years later, when he caught her _in flagrante delicto_ with another wizard. She eventually had seven husbands, but only three more children, all of whom Arthur raised.

Ron Weasley left St. Mungo's after almost a year as a brain-damaged squib. Without any usable magic or skills, he ultimately found a job as a janitor for his beloved Chudley Cannons. He held that post for many years, becoming something of a team mascot and much-adored figure to the fans. He died an old, old man, happy and content with his life. Years later, Harry Potter would be asked about his friend Ron. This is what he had to say during that interview:

"Ron always wanted to be special. I guess, in the end, that's what he got."

Hermione Granger's parents removed her from Hogwarts after the events of the second task. Apparently, Hermione's fear of drowning prompted her to 'tell all' about just what her time at Hogwarts had been like; her parents subsequently refused to allow her to return. She became the most hated and reviled Oxford don of the century before taking a position in the muggle government where she could harangue people on a global scale. She never did marry, and died old, alone, and bitter, to absolutely no one's surprise.

Gabrielle Delacour eventually married a fellow student from Beauxbatons; the young man was from a poor family of good reputation and name, and also had part-Veela blood himself. They had five children, all of them blond and beautiful. She and Harry remained friends for life, and her husband did quite well for his family as manager of the Potter and Black interests in Europe.

Cedric Diggory married Cho Chang, and had one son, Edward, who was sorted into Ravenclaw. Cedric was widowed after five years of marriage, when Cho was struck by a muggle lorry while coming out of Harrods. He never remarried, much preferring the single life, and eventually took a position in Magical Games and Sports after a ten-year Quidditch career. He retired as Director of MGS and lived out his life as a gentleman of leisure...between sitting for four grandchildren, managing the Black Foundation for Lycanthropic Research and Treatment, and administering the Remus Lupin Scholarship Program for magicals who wanted further education in the muggle world. He joked that Harry Potter beat him over the head with a broom to get him to take the Foundation and Program off of his, Harry's, hands—a story that Harry refused to either confirm or deny.

Harry Potter never married, but he and Oliver Wood had 'an arrangement' between the two of them that lasted nearly a century. Some ten years after the death of Voldemort, several of Tom's supporters rallied behind Pansy Parkinson, who fancied herself the next Dark Lady. The subsequent 'war' lasted almost six weeks before Harry put the former Slytherin in Azkaban for life; sadly, killing the families of muggleborn infants had been Parkinson's main form of entertainment. Harry adopted two of these babies, and Oliver one, so that their London townhouse was rarely quiet, especially since Cedric and his son were virtually permanent residents with them. Harry thumbed his nose at all convention and did blood adoptions on all three children, making them his or Oliver's both magically and biologically. To no one's surprise, Harry's oldest, James Sirius, had shocking green eyes and messy black hair. Abigail, his daughter, developed a rust-brown hair and deep green eyes, and everyone told Harry that she had Lily's face. Oliver's daughter, Shanna, had her father's freckles, hair and temperament; she later went on to be the Captain of the Harpies, taking them to the All-England cup four years running. At first, Harry gave each member of his family a daily dose of medicine from his own tonic bottle, before passing the secret of its construction off to each of the children. Eventually, Harry also made one for 'Uncle' Nicholas Flamel, who taught the children potions and alchemy, as well as magical history.

Abigail Potter married Gabrielle's oldest boy, Jacques, in what was billed as the 'Wizarding Wedding of the Century'. This cemented the alliance between the families and gave Harry an excuse to buy (another) villa in France as a wedding gift. One year later, they presented Harry with his first grandchild, Jacques Harold Roché, who would one day succeed his uncle, James S. Potter, as Supreme Mugwump of the ICW.

Sirius Black married a young witch who worked in the Ministry; they had one son before separating after three years of marriage. They never divorced, however, and were frequently seen together in their later years. Their son, Solaris Black, became one of the most respected judges to ever sit on the wizarding bench.

Remus Lupin married a young woman who also carried the lycanthropic curse. Because of the curse, they were never able to have children, but 'Mamma Anna' and 'Papa Remus' never lacked for children to love, nappies to change, or grandchildren to spoil rotten. Remus remained friends with Madam Maleficent, and he and she collaborated on several Defense Against the Dark Arts texts, as well as advancements in magical medicine that eventually led to a treatment—a regime of potions, spells and meditation exercises—to allow lycanthropes full control of the change.

Neville Longbottom eventually asked Hannah Abbott to marry him; they had been out of Hogwarts for all of three weeks before she allowed him to 'pop the question'. He obtained his Mastery in Herbology and worked for one of Harry's companies as a researcher before taking Pomona Sprout's position upon her retirement. He served as Hogwarts Professor of Herbology, as well as Head of Gryffindor House and Deputy Headmaster, until becoming Hogwarts Headmaster, a post he held until his death. He would be remembered as one of the greatest Headmasters in the history of the school, revamping the curriculum to reflect changes in the modern world, and presiding over the single greatest increase in OWL and NEWT scores ever recorded. He is also remembered for his willingness to open the school more to the families of the students, as well as his propensity for bringing in 'special lecturers', including Harry Potter, on a regular basis.

Hannah Abbott became the Lady Longbottom, and exactly twelve months later gave birth to August Franklin Harold Longbottom, who would serve six terms as Minister of Magic...four by general election and two at the insistence of the Wizengamot...but that's another story altogether. For her part, Augusta doted on her many grandchildren—related by blood or not—and practically wallowed in being the Dowager Lady Longbottom. With the assistance of a small brown medicine bottle (a gift from an 'old friend'), she lived to the ripe old age of 212, and died peacefully in her bed, surrounded by family and friends.

Oliver Wood went from Quidditch player to assistant coach, then to coach of Puddlemere United, eventually becoming the winningest coach in Quidditch history. Harry played professionally for eight years (three for Falmouth, five at Puddlemere), before retiring. He later bought Puddlemere, and spent the rest of his life raising his family, managing his family's fortune and estates, and teaching occasional seminars for Aurors and Unspeakables. From time to time, he also was called upon to deal with Dark wizards around the globe, but he preferred to keep this to an absolute minimum. He always asked that the local authorities use every resource at their disposal before stepping in himself, and always made a point of 'assisting', never taking over and doing it himself. He disappeared on his one hundredth birthday, and according to a prophesy made by no less a personage than Cybil Trelawney, he will return (along with Merlin and Arthur) at Britain's hour of greatest need.

And Mary Poppins? She served as governess and tutor to Harry, Oliver and Cedric's children, and their children; along with her friends, she saw to it that they never lacked for an appropriate education. However, she would never stay any longer than she was needed, and always left right after the wind changed...

**The End**

**A/N:** As this story was beginning to form up in my mind, I saw a picture, taken at a convention, of several of Disney's 'Evil Queens' together. These queens (drag queens, all) had obviously worked hard to bring these characters to life…and the basics of this story immediately fell into place! Of course (I reasoned) Mary Poppins knows everyone worth knowing, of course they'd come at her call to help the (utter hapless yet adorable) Harry Potter. Of course, most of them would do it just on Mary Poppins' say-so; that they all could get a chance to twit Albus-bloody-Dumbledore would just be icing on the cake!

And so...the story you've just read. Now, go out, and buy all of the Harry Potter movies, as well as all of the Disney 'Evil Queen' movies you can get your grubby little mits on! Spit spot, off with you!

The Labyrinth/HP Xover I mentioned in the last chapter's notes is **Genkaifan's** "What Is Said, Is Said" (**Shout Out!** To **crystaldove** and **Ghostgal**, who clued me in to this). ** ReflectionsofReality's **review lays out an extended syllabus for Harry, including suggestions for Professors in other subjects; I rather doubt that I'll ever write the sequel Reflections wants, so if anyone wants to take these ideas and run with them I won't say boo. I would, however, like a heads-up if someone does take this story idea further.

_-and for those of you who were wondering..._

_Castratios_: the castration hex, quite nasty and banned in most internationally sanctioned duels. Let's your opponents know you're serious, and usually rattles them no end.

_Accio hepar_: literally, summon (the) liver, favored by Mim for two reasons—(1) it's hard to fight without your liver, and (2) she likes liver, especially fresh, preferably spread on toast or scones, with butter and jam.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **this takes place in the same universe as Harry Potter and the Alternative Tournament (read it first, or this won't make any sense at all), but is a slightly different version of how things could have gone in the graveyard during the third task. Rather than dueling Harry directly, Voldemort decides to have his Death Eaters soften Harry up a bit before their duel. However, neither he nor the DEs ever counted on Harry's dueling instructor showing up….

**Disclaimer:** don't own Harry Potter, Mary Poppins, Mad Madam Mim, or any of the other characters mentioned here. As with HP and the Alternative Tournament, this is an homage to the creators of such memorable characters.

**And now…Mim Unbound**

An Omake for Harry Potter and the Alternative Tournament

It was all going as the fake Moody had planned.

Harry Potter had taken the rigged Goblet, and vanished from the maze of the third task. That another young man had accompanied him was of no consequence.

Cedric was down, Harry was bound, and Voldemort resurrected.

_Around them, the air was suddenly filled with the cracks of apparition, as a number of Death Eaters materialized in the graveyard around them._

_"Ah, at last! My faithful Death Eaters," Voldemort said, sarcastically. Turning away from Harry, he began giving what Harry recognized as a standard Evil Overlord monologue; he tuned it out right away while he tested his bonds once again. He kept one ear open, however, making mental notes of the names Voldemort mentioned for future reference. One of the many things he'd learned over the last few months was that 'dead enemies are the best kind'; when he got out of this he'd be making a few 'house calls' to see to just that very thing. Yep, Avery, Crabbe and Goyle Senior, Nott, Senior, Macnair and Lucy Malfoy...they'd all need visiting. He was mildly interested in Voldemort's creation of a new hand for Pettigrew—that could be a useful trick—but not at all happy when Voldemort turned back to him once more._

_"And so, my friends, here is Harry Potter, who somehow managed to vanquish me all those long years ago. Tonight is the night I deal with him once and for all! No more will the people of Britain be able to place their hopes for my downfall in a mere child; no, tonight Lord Voldemort will defeat Harry Potter once and for all!"_

_"So, that's what this is all about? You're still trying to get your mojo back after being zapped by a baby?" Harry forced a laugh. Get them mad, if you can; it'll make them sloppy, he remember Mim saying over and over again. "That is so pathetic, really. Don't you agree, Lucius?" he said, calling out to where he thought the elder Malfoy stood. "So much for that famous Malfoy pride, the way you keep on sucking up to this cut-rate charlatan."_

_"Silence!" Voldemort roared. With a wave of his wand, he released Harry from the grasp of the statue that held him. "Return his wand," he hissed. "I want to do this properly." (from Harry Potter and the Alternative Tournament, chap. 4)_

"My Lord, if I may," Lucius Malfoy's voice slid easily. "You are but newly returned to us in body. Allow us to...prepare Mr. Potter for your mercy."

Voldemort's head snapped around, a curse on his lips. However, the look on Malfoy's face gave him pause. The blonde's eyes were flashing, and his pale completion flushed at the thought of being allowed to torture Potter for a bit. Being no fool, Voldemort realized that his minion might have a valid point.

"Very well, Lucius; never let it be said that Lord Voldemort could not be generous. You may enjoy yourselves with Mr. Potter, but," he cautioned, raising one thin finger. "You may not fatally injure him...at least, not so much that you cannot heal him before you bring him to me."

"As my lord wills," Lucius bowed, low.

"So much for 'properly', eh, Tom?" Harry's voice rang out from behind a tombstone. While his enemies had been discussing just who would kill him, Harry had taken the chance to scoot under cover, and was using _Ventrilo_ to throw his voice randomly around the graveyard. A flick of Voldemort's wand exploded a tombstone well away from Harry's actual hiding place. "Can't face me without the minions softening me up a bit, is that how it is?" Very carefully, Harry was conjuring a small silvery ball while he was talking. "That little tidbit's probably not going to make the _Prophet_ tomorrow, I'm betting."

"Come out, whelp, and face your betters," one of the DEs called (Harry thought it might be Avery). "Kneel before the Dark Lord, and beg him for a merciful death."

"You know, as inspirational speakers, you guys really suck," Harry couldn't help but laugh. Popping up from hiding, he tossed the silvery ball at the nearest clump of Death Eaters and detonated it with a flick of his wand.

The gathering Death Eaters only had time to notice a figure—now clad head to toe in black—appear and toss some glittering object before a brilliant light seared their eyes, blinding them. Most of them dived for cover while they frantically tried to restore their vision; two went down to devastatingly effective curses from the Boy Who Lived.

* * *

><p>It had been Maleficent who sat Harry down and had 'the talk' about Dark, Black, Gray and Light magic. "It's all rubbish," she'd said, smiling. Harry thought she was really quite pretty when she smiled. "A spell is a spell is a spell; same with magic. It's all about the intent put into it. Some of the most vicious dueling spells you'll ever see are only slightly modified medical spells."<p>

Harry perked up. "Really? Which ones?"

"We'll talk about them later, when you have your book. Now, it's 'Dark Magic Talk Time'," Maleficent laughed, refusing to be swayed by the puppy eyes. "Not without your book," she repeated.

Harry nodded, satisfied. He'd been made to start his own Grimore and was already almost ready for the second volume. He also knew that if Maleficent said 'later', she meant 'at some definite yet unspecified time in the future we will absolutely do this', and not 'we'll put it off until you forget about it'. It was one of the reasons Harry adored her.

They had talked for the rest of the afternoon and into the evening, when Sirius, Remus and Mary Poppins had joined them. The conversation had continued the next night, when Madam Bones and Harry's solicitor and barrister had joined them at dinner. The upshot of that meeting had been an 'understanding' between Madam Bones and the household that Number 12, Grimmauld Place—safe behind the Black family wards from prying eyes at the Ministry and elsewhere—was where Harry would be trained to deal with as many possibly threats as could reasonably be anticipated. In other words, everybody knew that Voldemort had no effective limits; Dark magic was his favored type. To face him, Harry would need to at least know something about Dark curses.

To Maleficent, Ursula and Mim (and Sirius, and sometimes Remus—Mary Poppins very carefully never said anything either way) that meant that they could teach Harry pretty much anything they thought might be useful...and that covered a lot of territory that even Madam Bones hadn't imagined.

* * *

><p>And so...alone in the graveyard, outnumbered and with no definite hope of reinforcements coming to save his scrawny arse, Harry Potter did the only thing he could think of: he attacked. His flash spell let him nail two of his opponents with blood-boiling and bone marrow-to-molten lead curses before he quickly dodged away. The screams of his first targets made it difficult for anyone to hear anything, so he really didn't concern himself with stealth as he moved for a better firing spot.<p>

Voldemort winced as he recognized both curses. Moving quickly, he reversed the marrow to lead transfiguration curse first, then healed his follower. Turning, he did the same to the other afflicted man. Despite his intervention, each would be out of combat for another few minutes, at least. That Harry Potter, Hero of the Light, would use such horrifically painful spells was concerning. That was certainly not Dumbledore's teaching, not at all. Just who had been training the boy?

Harry continued to fire and move, and was scoring hits with almost every shot. However, he was fighting adult wizards who were expert duelists themselves, and it was beginning to show. The first to restore his own sight had quickly restored the others, and there were still enough people to spare one or two to undo the damage Harry was doing.

It was only a matter of time before Harry was tagged. A bludgeoning hex that just glanced off Harry's jaw threw off his dodge of another to his ribs. He spun around, ribs splintered, directly into the path of a seizure hex. The resulting uncontrollable jerking let several other spells at least partially hit him, before a burst of pure magic threw Harry and his attackers back from each other.

As the dust settled, various forms all around the graveyard struggled to rise. Only Voldemort, well away from the epicenter of the blast, managed to remain on his feet.

No one noticed a soft 'crack' beside Harry's limp form.

"Hello, what's all this?" Madam Mim asked no one in particular, before looking down at her feet. "Oh, my sweet...Harry, love, what have ye done to yerself?"

Dropping to her knees, Mim gently lifted Harry's head on to her lap, then pulled a cloth from her apron. "Here, now, ducks, let Mim see," she said gently. The charmed cloth swept away the blood and grime, revealing the damage to Harry's face. One side looked to have been trampled by a hippogryph, the eye swollen shut and the jaw obviously fractured. By the hiss when she touched his side, Mim guessed broken ribs. There was almost certainly internal bleeding, and without serious medical care in the next few minutes, Harry Potter was as good as dead.

"'bout time you dragged your saggy arse here," Harry croaked out. His one good eye twitched as it fell on Mim's face. "I was just getting my second wind," he managed, before a particularly bad spasm hit him.

"I know you were, ducks," Mim soothed. "Had a bit of trouble around the Midlands, I did, but Mim's here now. You just rest a bit while I sort this lot out. Mary Poppins is right behind me, and we'll have you back in a warm bed with hot chocolate before you know it."

"Mmm, Mary Poppins makes the best chocolate," Harry muttered, Mim's spells gently sedating the boy. She'd managed enough healing to keep him alive for several more minutes—best she could do in a hurry—and right now sending him somewhere away from the pain was the best choice she had.

If her eyes were misty, well, the scent of Voldemort's rebirthing potion was still lingering; that explained it. Mad Madam Mim cried for no one, especially little green-eyed urchins with too much enthusiasm for life itself; who soaked up her teachings like a sponge, who took everything she could throw at him and gave back just as good if not better. No, Mim wouldn't cry, not for the little scamp who'd given her and his godfather the worst (best) case of spots she'd had seen since Merlin himself, or turned her bathroom into a rainforest (complete with anacondas with 'special instructions', damn him and his parseltongue), or introduced her to the wonder that is 'fast food'.

No, it was not a tear that Mim wiped off her cheek. Madam Mim would never cry for anyone.

Madam Mim did, however, carry the well-deserved reputation of being The Scourge of magical Europe. She would appear, wreck absolute havoc for a few days or weeks, and then disappear again for years. She'd stolen a trick from Sycorax (_that hag!_), and made herself her very own cloven pine. She could enter the tree, hidden as it was in a magical grotto, and sleep for decades or even centuries before emerging once again. She'd found that she liked things better that way; always moving through time and never having any attachments. As a method it had stood her well since Merlin's day...but oh, if she could only have shown Merlin this boy; he'd have pissed himself with envy! The boy would be greater than all of them someday, and Mim'd bet her last pair of knickers that he'd still be the same sweet child underneath.

He'd certainly charmed her, the scamp. Made her laugh, then feel at home, then feel like part of a family for the first time in, well, ever...and be damned if she didn't enjoy it! Him, and the werewolf, and that sot of a godfather of his! The lot of them had made Mim feel welcomed and wanted within days of her arrival. Mim had stayed up nights drinking up Sirius' supply of Old Ogden's with the Lord Black, swapping drinking songs with him along with shots. She'd spent long afternoons with Remus Lupin, discussing the condition of werewolves over the centuries. She'd even spent one frantic afternoon dueling Kingsley Shacklebolt as a demonstration of an all-out wizarding fight; the young Auror had matched her point for point almost as well as Merlin himself. Oh, not at Merlin's power level—Harry was almost there, and growing every day—but Kingsley had almost as many tricks as she did, as was just as gleefully unconcerned about using them. Had she been 400 years younger, she probably would have fallen in lust with the man! How silly was that? And all because of one scrawny little green-eyed scrap of a boy...

A scrap of a boy with enough heart and courage to take the piss with her, then expect the puppy dog eyes to work every time.

"Right," Harry muttered. "Can't feel the ribs, good job, Mim. Time to get back at it," he said, struggling to sit up.

"Oh, no, ducks, not just yet. Healing spells take a minute, don't ya know?" Mim wouldn't let him rise. "Just lay back. You've done your part. Now Mim's got to do hers."

Harry's eye blinked, then closed. His protest died on his lips as he succumbed to Mim's sleeping spell. Satisfied that she'd bought the lad at least a few minutes, Mim nodded to herself, gently slid Harry's head to the ground, then climbed to her feet. Turning, she noticed that the Death Eaters were already standing, wands trembling as they pointed in her direction. They were obviously ready to attack at the slightest provocation.

Mim grinned. She had them right where she wanted them.

What happened next was merciful only in its brevity. Each of the Death Eaters in the graveyard was a fully qualified adult wizard with years of experience and a natural bent towards the Dark in life as well as in magic. Still and all, they were all products of a very civilized age, trained in the proper forms of magical dueling and all of the associated niceties.

Mim...well, not so much.

Mim's formative years had been in the days when magic was wild and free, just waiting to be grasped and bent to one's will. A wand was something you crafted for yourself; otherwise it might or might not do as you told it. Mim had learned to duel when wizards would literally beat each other with waves of raw magic, and she had forgotten more about magical combat than most wizards or witches would ever know. Most of her favorite spells and techniques had been long forgotten, and the fact that she was honestly angry only made her more of a force of nature.

The first Death Eater found himself in dire straits when a loop of bowel flew out of his belly into Mim's outstretched hand. A quick flip of her wrist wrapped the end of the loop around his neck. When Mim released it, the displaced length of organ began to strangle its owner.

The second Death Eater fell into a twisted heap, his bones turned to taffy.

Lucius Malfoy spun out of the way of a vile pus-yellow curse then dove behind a nearby mausoleum before Mim could attack him a second time. A quick slash of his wand, and his severing charm gave him a length of fabric from the hem of his robe. A muttered incantation later, and he tied the timed portkey firmly around his wrist. Regardless of what happened in the interim, in ten minutes he (or his remains) would be returned to Malfoy Manor.

His preparations made, Lucius peered around his cover. What he saw made the Death Eater's blood run cold.

Scattered around the graveyard were the broken, twisted, moaning remains of his colleagues. Lucius hoped that at least a couple of the bodies were already dead; judging from the looks of things, it was the best outcome possible for those poor souls.

Most frightening of all, the only two people left on their feet were Madam Mim and the Dark Lord…and of the two, only Mim was grinning. Lucius' blood froze in his veins when he noticed the apprehension on Voldemort's face.

Apparently Mim noticed it too.

"Oh, come on! Is that the best your little minions can do? All of them against one defenseless little old lady?" Mim laughed out loud at her own joke.

"How dare you, woman?" the Dark Lord hissed, his apprehension vanishing as anger washed over his features. "Do you have any idea who I am?"

"Yeah, I fancy I do. I've heard about some so-called Dark Lord Anal Warts; I figure you're him. Oh, yes, and I know about the prophecy that links you to my Harry, just as sure as I'm standing here. That's the only reason I haven't gutted you like a fish, boy," Mim glared.

"What?" Voldemort drew back, as much from Mim's threat as the realization that she knew the prophecy that had eluded him for so long.

"Basically, Harry's the only one who can finally kill you, you ugly sod," Mim smirked. "As if anyone with half a brain couldn't figure that one out," she sniffed.

"Then I shall destroy Potter once and for all, and so secure my own immortality!" Voldemort declared, raising his wand. _"Avada Ke…mmurph!"_

The incantation for the killing curse was cut off by the sudden appearance of a largish fish in the Dark Lord's mouth.

"Ah, ah, ah; no killing the sleeping hero, boyo! That's just not cricket! Now, here's what you're going to do," Mim wagged her finger at the black-robed wizard like a teacher at an errant pupil. "You're going to scrape up what's left of your bully-boys and run away like the good little cowards you are. Then, when it's the proper time, you and my Harry will meet for the final time. And, if there's any way in heaven or elsewheres that I can be there, I will be."

"To try what your pitiful little boy cannot possibly do, no doubt," Voldemort sneered back. Then, he smacked his lips, tasting fish and ruining the effect of his sneer.

"What, kill you? Not even, No-Lips," Mim snorted. "Not only would that be tempting the Fates to get even more involved than those bitches already are, but I wouldn't deprive Harry of the pleasure. He's got a monstrous debt to take out of your hide, and I wouldn't take that away from him for all the tea in the Empire."

"So you admit that you cannot defeat me," Voldemort pulled himself up. "So, then, when I return, I will destroy Potter, and then take my rightful place as _squaawk!_

Whatever the Dark Lord was going to say was abruptly cut off as he suddenly transformed into a rather scraggly-looking, featherless rooster.

"And here I thought that Merlin was an insufferable windbag," Mim grunted. Then, with 'shooing' motions of her hands, "Go on, off with you! Get out of my sight before I decide to steal Harry's fun."

Lucius was able to see just enough from his hiding place to see the Dark Rooster flap his naked wings uselessly, before turning and fleeing as fast as his little chicken feet could carry him. The Malfoy patriarch was about to Apparate away, when he suddenly felt icy fingers clasp the nape of his neck.

"And just where do you think you're going to, ducks?" Mim purred in his ear.

"I…I have been under the Imperius curse," Lucius stammered, only to be cut off by Mim's snort of disbelief.

"Pull the other one, Blondie, it's got bells on it," she snickered. "No, stop pissing yourself," she went on, giving one significant glance at the dark spot spreading across the front of Lucius' robes. "If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead; simple as that. No, I recognize you, Malfoy. You and your boy might want to seriously consider just which side you're backing in this little disagreement. Now, take your worthless friends and get out of my sight!"

Lucius shuddered as his portkey was activated prematurely, and he (and the more-or-less alive Death Eaters) disappeared from the graveyard in Little Hangleton.

When she was certain that the cemetery was clear (good thing that Blondie had made that portkey, it had given her a convenient way to get the riff raff out of her way), Mim spun and waddled back to where Harry slept. She had just begun another series of healing spells when another series of 'pops' announced the arrival of Mary Poppins.

"Mim," Mary Poppins said, her eyes taking in the entire graveyard in one quick glance. "I see young Diggory lying over there, and no one else around. How is Harry?"

"He needs more than either of us can do for him here, Mary," Mim's voice wavered. Coming from anyone else, it might have been because the speaker was crying. "He did us proud, he did," she said, her eyes shining brightly.

"I see," Mary Poppins nodded. "Well, let's not dally, shall we?" she asked. A wave of her umbrella floated Cedric's body over to them, and she reached out to take Mim's hand from where the hag knelt on the ground, Harry Potter's head once again cradled in her lap.

With a soft 'pop', the foursome vanished from the cemetery.

* * *

><p>Harry Potter floated back to consciousness slowly. His first impression was that of a soft mattress and think warm duvet covering him. Reluctantly—he was so warm, and comfortable right where he was—he opened one eye just enough to see a lone sunbeam entering the room from a gap in the maroon curtains. Shifting slightly, he was able to see enough in the blurs and shapes to recognize his room at Number 12, Grimmauld Place.<p>

"Good, you're awake. I must say, Harry, you did have us worried there for a bit."

The familiar voice pulled Harry completely awake. "'Lo, Mary Poppins. Did I beat Voldemort?"

The smile could easily be heard in Mary Poppin's voice when she answered. "No, not this time, Harry; although, you did give it a good try."

"Damn," Harry sighed. Then, suddenly, "Cedric! Mary Poppins! He was hit with an AK! Is he…?"

"Surely you're mistaken, Harry," Mary Poppins soothed. "You managed to knock him to the ground, but he hit his head rather firmly when he landed. He was unconscious for some time, but is expected to make a full recovery. You did quite well, you know. All of us are as pleased as we can be with how you handled yourself."

"But I didn't beat him…Voldemort, I mean," Harry groused. "I didn't even get a good shot at him, because of all of his Death Eaters."

"Never you mind about that, young man! You did quite well against wizards many years your senior, not to mention skilled fighters. You have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of, and I won't hear any more of your little pity party. Do I make myself clear?" The tone of her voice left no room for argument.

"No, Mary Poppins," Harry answered sheepishly. Then, more concerned, "but what happened after Mim arrived? I think she put me to sleep, by the way," he said, his tone accusatory.

"I certainly did, you little scamp! I thought I'd trained you better than that," Mim thundered, bustled into the room.

"I was a bit outnumbered," Harry started to reply, only to be cut off as Mim wrapped him into a crushing hug.

"I am so proud of you! Merlin himself couldn't have done any better, the old scalawag! You faced them all head-to-head, and gave better than you got for long enough for the cavalry to arrive! Just never do it again," Mim finished, smacking Harry soundly on the crown of his head.

"Ow! I thought you said I did good," Harry protested, rubbing his head.

"You nearly got yourself killed is what you did," Mim snapped angrily. "Don't do it again," she huffed.

Harry couldn't help himself. He smiled at what Mim didn't come right out and say. "Oh, Mim…I didn't know you cared," he said, preparing to duck.

"I don't, and don't you forget it," Mim groused back, then punched him on the arm. "I'm going to make myself a cuppa, don't bother me until I've had time to drink it," she said, and stormed out of the room with as much energy as she'd entered it.

Mary Poppins just smiled at the byplay between the two. Turning to Harry once Mim was out of the room—punctuating her exit with a huge slam of the door—Mary Poppins picked up the steaming cup of hot chocolate that Harry hadn't noticed on his bed stand until then.

"Here you go, young man. I want you to drink every drop of this, and then sleep until you wake up. Understand?"

Harry took the mug and sniffed it suspiciously. "There's stuff in here besides just chocolate," he groused. "Besides, won't Dumbles and Fudgey want to know what happened?"

"Certainly there is," the Governess sniffed. "Three different healing potions, as well as a mild sleeping draught. As for Albus and Cornelius, not to mention those annoying fools from the press, they can wait until you are up to meeting them! No arguments, now, drink up!"

With no more protestation aside from a dirty look, Harry did as he was told. Surprisingly, there was only a faint minty aftertaste to what was otherwise an excellent cup of hot chocolate.

Satisfied, Mary Poppins rewarded her charge with a smile as she retrieved the empty mug. The sleeping draught worked almost instantly, and she paused only long enough to make sure that her charge was thoroughly tucked in before she turned to leave.

At the door, she turned back; giving the young man—for that was what he was fast becoming, make no mistake about it—yet another fond smile. Then, quietly, she closed the door and locked it.

**Finis**

**A/N:** despite my best intentions, I just couldn't leave this universe alone. To my surprise, the original story of Harry Potter and Mary Poppins (and friends) has proven to be wildly popular; more so than I'd ever imagined. This version of the fight in the graveyard was one that I toyed with before using the version you've already seen. Still, this one lets me use Mim like she was meant to be used, and lets me stuff a fish into Voldie's mouth before turning him into a plucked rooster! How could I _not_ post it?


	6. A Sequel is Now Available

A sequel of sorts is now posted as a separate story: "**Harry Potter and the Inevitable Battle**". I apologize for the inconvenience, but it grew too big to just be another chapter.


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